


Interlude:  First Meetings

by NotASpaceAlien



Series: Your Own Side [4]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-10-30 16:58:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10881075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: Everyone has to start somewhere.





	1. Aziraphale and Crowley

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was supposed to be the prologue to the next story but like............you can't have a 16k word prologue buddy lmao
> 
> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/160553901465/first-meetings-part-1-aziraphale-and-crowley

_8 days after the fall of man_

It was a nice day.

Most of the days so far had been nice.  There had been a storm recently, but it had passed quickly and now all the plants had fat droplets of dew clinging to their lush, waxy surfaces.  The sun was just coming up to herald a new day.  It was humid, dim, and perfect.

There was an angel in the jungle who wasn’t particularly enjoying the beautiful sight.  His bare feet squished in the mud, and he leaned against a tree trunk to catch his breath.

“That serpent,” he muttered. “This is his fault.  I just know it.”  The angel knew he had been the one to give his sword away and subsequently get in trouble, but the serpent was a convenient party to blame since he wasn’t here to defend himself.

Aziraphale had been demoted to principality.  That meant he was a field agent now, and he had to go interact with humans and demons and other angels.  So far he didn’t like it at all.  Although, that might have been because he couldn’t _find_ any of the bloody beings he was looking for.  It was easy enough when they had all been concentrated in the Garden, but now everyone had spread out over the completely empty Earth and he was having a devil of a time trying to find anyone.

The vegetation ahead of him rustled, and a man-shaped being stepped out.  This man-shaped being was not used to being man-shaped and especially not used to having legs, so he immediately fell flat on his face when his foot met the slick mud.

“Oh, dear,” said Aziraphale. “Are you all right?”

The other being pushed himself up slowly, stunned, as though he had never seen mud before.  “Bugger.”

When the being wiped his face, Aziraphale recognized his eyes.  And he realized he had just expressed concern over a demon’s well-being.  So instead of helping him up like he wanted to, Aziraphale crossed his arms and looked down haughtily, hoping that would make up for it.

The other hauled himself up, bracing himself against a tree trunk.  “I bet you don’t even recognize me, angel.”

“Well, not when you’re completely covered in mud.”

The demon angrily tried to clear himself off.  “No, I mean I changed my body.  I’m the serpent.  From Eden?”

Aziraphale felt a bit annoyed at the suggestion that he had interacted with multiple serpents and needed the reminder of which one.  “Crawly? What _have_ you done to your corporation?”

“It’s Crowley now.  I decided to change my name.  And my corporation.  New me! Now I look more like I did in Heaven.”

He sounded like it comforted him somehow, and it made Aziraphale _un_ comfortable.  Casting about for something to say to someone who was supposed to be his adversary, he finally settled on, “Well, you didn’t do a very good job on the feet.”

The former serpent slid down the tree trunk and seated himself, wiggling the scaly mitts that served as his feet.  “I know,” he said mournfully.  “This was as good as I could get it. You should have seen my first try.”

“Er…” said Aziraphale, feeling uncomfortable again.  “Is that…you know…allowed?  If they wanted you in a human body, they would have sent you up in one, I’d imagine.”

Crowley gave a lopsided grin.  “The nice thing about being a demon is I don’t have to care whether or not something is _allowed._ ”

“You’re going to get into even more trouble with _that_ attitude.”

“That’s the point.”

“Oh.”

The demon stood and stretched, cracking the joints in his back.  “ _So_ few vertebrae in this body….it doesn’t feel strange to you at all?”

“I think I’ve got just the right number, thank you.”

“Fine,” he replied, making one last attempt to remove the mud from his body.  “Well, I’m going to get going.  It doesn’t look like anybody really stuck around here.  Think I might try heading north.”

“Oh,” said the angel. “Well, my job’s been changed.  I’m supposed to thwart you, so I guess I’ll have to come along.”

“Fine.  But do try to keep up with me.  I won’t slow down if you fall behind,” said Crowley, immediately tumbling back to the ground as he tried to step over a log.  Aziraphale did help him up this time.


	2. Oryss and Olivia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/160554719940/first-meetings-part-2-oryss-and-olivia

 

_8 days after the fall of man_

A few miles away, on the other side of the Garden, another angel sat glumly against a tree trunk. Her name was Olivia, and she had been the Guardian of the Western Gate.  She was peeved because she had also been demoted.  Nobody had seemed able to give her a very good reason why, and everyone brushed her off in favour of just telling her to get going on her new assignment.  She, at least, still had her sword, which was more than the Guardian of the Eastern Gate could say.  She didn’t have anything to use it on, though.  So she just sat where she was, watching a herd of some animals nearby.

They had hooves and very long horns.  They had just been named fairly recently, but Olivia still struggled to remember what they were called.

One of them stood out from the rest in that its hide was a very dark, almost metallic black.  It was also noticeably fatter than the others around it.  This individual was currently trotting away from the herd and straight towards Olivia.

What _were_ they called?  It was something funny, she remembered that much.  Started with an _o_ …

The black animal finally reached her.  “Hi,” it said.

“Oryx,” said Olivia, finally remembering what the animal was called.

The oryx flicked its ear in annoyance.  “Oryss.”

“What?”

“My name is Oryss.”

Olivia glared at the animal. “Oryss the onyx oryx?” she said, inventing tongue twisters.

The oryx, who at this point it should be obvious was actually a demon, stamped its hooves.  “What’s so funny about that?”

“I never said it was funny,” said Olivia.  “You don’t have to be so defensive.”

Oryss rolled her coal black eyes at the angel, snorting and continuing to stamp her hooves. “Defensive?  You’re the one with her hand on her sword.”

Olivia suddenly realized that she had been white-knuckling her sword, which was raised slightly out of its scabbard.  She released it, let out a deep breath, and said, “What do you want, demon?  You obviously came over here for a reason.”

Oryss sniffed indignantly, her neck dropping towards the ground, snuffling along the vegetation. “Well, I didn’t come over here to talk to _you,_ if that’s what you thought. I thought the grass over here looked a lot more delicious than the stuff over there, that’s all.”

Olivia watched as Oryss stuck out a long, muscular tongue and began to clip the grass with enthusiastic chomps.  

“Look at you,” said Olivia. “You used to be an angel.  Now you’re reduced to eating from a field like a beast.  It’s embarrassing.”

Oryss did not seem to be listening to her, and looked to be enjoying the grass immensely.  The angel pressed, “It’s unbecoming.  Undignified.”

Oryss’s tail flicked a fly away, but she otherwise gave no reply.

Olivia stood.  “Didn’t you hear me?” she shouted.  “You’re pathetic!  

“Hm?” said Oryss, lifting her head, cheeks bulging.  

Olivia was suddenly embarrassed and realized she might have other motivations for trying to put down a random demon.  She crossed her arms, blushing, and leaned back against the tree.  “Nothing.  Never mind.”

“We don’t really _need_  to eat,” said Oryss.  “But have you tried it?  It’s quite enjoyable.”  Oryss trotted over to the tree and began to strip the bark off with her broad teeth.

“Have you gone mad?” said Olivia.  “What are you doing?”

Oryss spit the bark out with a _pleh._  “Experimenting.  Grass is the tastiest thing I’ve found so far, but I bet I can find something better.”

“Why didn’t you try some fruit?” Olivia said, then immediately kicked herself for indulging the demon.

Oryss gave a small hop of joy.  “I will _have_ to try some.  I heard it’s good enough to be worth the corruption of all creation.” She gave a bovine sigh and sprawled out under the shade of the tree.  “I bet I could taste better if I had a human tongue…”

Olivia clamped her mouth shut, remembering that she was angry.

“Hey,” said Oryss after a moment.  “Your aura’s different.  You were demoted, weren’t you?”

Olivia’s face darkened. “That’s none of _your_ business.”

Oryss lowed and gave her a facsimile of a grin.  “You were, weren’t you?  What’s it now?  Principality? You’re obviously a field agent of some sort if you’re still around here.”

She crossed her arms and looked away.  “Don’t you have somebody else to go bother?”

The herd of oryx in the distance were beginning to move away.  Oryss hauled herself up with a melodramatic sigh.  “Well, all right then.  Suit yourself, if you want to sit here all alone.”

The black oryx disappeared among the brown flanks of the herd.  Olivia could not comprehend why anyone, angel or demon, would join a herd of animals like that.

Olivia, still pouting, watched until the animals merged with the horizon, where the sun was setting and making it difficult to see.  She continued to sit there and finger the hilt of her sword.  The sun slid all the way down.  The stars started to come out.  The crickets took up their chorus.

Olivia sighed with disgust, remembering the orders of her commander to thwart whatever demons she could find, and tore her wings out to follow the direction in which the herd had disappeared.


	3. Michael and Angelo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/160555445800/first-meetings-part-3-michael-and-angelo

_8 days after the fall of man_

Somewhere in the world, a ways away from either of those occurrences, a third angel sat against a tree. He was crying bitter, painful tears. He was lonely.  He was homesick.  He was afraid.  And now he hurt all over.

There was a fluttering sound beside him.  He looked up to see a pheasant of some sort with an iridescent blue breast and a gigantic train of wild feathers sprawling behind it.  He watched as the bird flapped in the dirt to try and right itself in the aftermath of its clumsy landing from the tree above.  It folded its wings, ruffling its feathers, trying to maintain some sense of primness, flicking dust off itself.

“Hey there,” it squawked, then it seemed to notice that the angel was upset.  Shifting from foot to foot, the bird cocked its head and said, “What’s wrong?”  


“Go away, you accursed chicken,” said the angel, who hadn’t bothered to learn any of the names Adam had given the animals.

“I am a _peacock_ ,” said the bird, flaring out all its feathers. When the angel did not react, it lowered them again, its head bobbing as it moved in closer.

“My name is Adramelech,” said the bird.  “What’s yours?  I suspect we are stationed opposite each other.  Know the enemy and all that.”

The angel’s name was Angelo, but he wasn’t in the mood to tell a demon that.  He just waved at the demon to go away.

The bird blinked and cocked its head again, pecking at the hem of Angelo’s tunic.  “Come _on_ , everyone else seems to be pairing up.  I haven’t seen any other angel for days.  Give me a break.”

“Go away,” said Angelo.

The demon opened its beak to speak again, but then shut it again, an expression of intense fear overcoming its features.  It spread its wings to leap into the tree, and used the branch to launch into the air, flying into the distance with its train dangling awkwardly in the air behind it.  Angelo wondered what could have startled it so suddenly, when he heard the sound of heavy booted footsteps and jangling armor approaching him.

He looked up to see the archangel Michael.  His deep chestnut eyes were looking at Angelo compassionately.  “What’s this?

Angelo forced himself to his feet, wobbling, and saluted.

Michael closed the distance between them with three strides of his enormous legs and put his hands on Angelo’s shoulders.  “What’s wrong?”

Angelo sniffled, embarrassed to be caught crying.  “Nothing, sir.  What are you doing out here?”

Michael let out a hefty breath and plopped himself on the ground.  “I wanted to see the creation and talk to all the field agents.  So far the only one I’ve been able to find was the one who used to be the guardian of the Eastern Gate.  Nice fellow, I suppose.  Only friend I’ve made so far.” 

Angelo wanted to ask why the Sword of Heaven wanted to do that, but he was afraid to.  He remained standing at stiff attention and said, “Sir, I thought you were supposed to stay in Heaven?  What mission could you have down here?”

“Look, it’s—it’s not a mission—” said Michael, sounding like he had been caught doing something not allowed. “Just—Come on, you’re obviously upset about something.  Maybe I can help.” 

Angelo squatted down, allowing his dark expression to creep back onto his face.  “I hate it here.  It’s cold and wet and I’m all alone.  And now a snake bit me, so I’m dying.”

Michael actually laughed. That hurt a little.  “Is that all?” said Michael, his hand closing on Angelo’s shoulder again.  “They didn’t tell you?  You don’t need a healer down here.”

Angelo turned to look at him.  “What?”

“You only need a healer if there’s damage to your true form.  If it’s just to your corporation you can use your own powers to heal it with a miracle.”

The fiery pain that had been wracking his body began to fade, and Angelo realized Michael was showing him.  “Oh…” he said, his cheeks flaming anew with doubled embarrassment.

Michael smiled as he removed his hand.  “There. Better?”

Angelo nodded.  

Michael looked at the sky.  “The sunrise is nice, don’t you think?”

“…I suppose so, sir.”

Michael’s expression was wistful.  “The way the streaks turn the sky pink…There’s nothing else like it…”

Angelo shifted uncomfortably.  “It’s just a trick of the light, sir.”

Michael leaned back, his head bumping the tree trunk behind him.  “I’ll be in trouble when I get back, I suppose.  The other archangels told me to stay in Heaven.  If they had their way I’d always be cooped up there. I have to make up excuses to get away.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” said Angelo, who truthfully would give anything to be permanently stationed in Heaven.

“You don’t like it down here, do you?”

“….No, sir.”

“Everyone should be stationed where they like it best.  Work will get done a lot easier that way.”

“Where do you want to be stationed, sir?” said Angelo.

Michael tapped the hilt of his sword, his wet eyes still fixed on the sunrise.  “Oh, that doesn’t matter…Hey, I can talk to someone up there and see if they’ll reassign you.  I don’t have an assistant, so maybe you can fill that position.  Uriel’s mad at me because I keep missing meetings.  I can’t remember when they are.  How would you like that?”

Angelo’s eyes widened. “You don’t have to do all that for me, sir.”

“Well, all right, then. I won’t.”

Angelo spluttered and choked. 

“I’m kidding,” said Michael, standing and stretching out.  “But you should just say what you mean.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Angelo, colouring again.

“It’d mean a demotion, though.  Would you be okay with that?”

Angelo would be okay with anything that would get him off this planet.  “I suppose I’d deal with it, sir.”

“All right.  Hey, do you remember where that snake was that bit you?”

“It was just an animal, sir.  Not even a demon or anything.”

“Take me to it.”

Angelo led Michael back to the spot where he had been bitten, and the two hunted around in the grass to find it.

“Is this it?” said Michael. “Come look.”

Angelo peeked where Michael had indicated and saw the brightly coloured flanks of the serpent that had caused him such misery.  It was coiled up and flicking its tongue at them in agitation.

“That’s it,” said Angelo.

“She bit you because you almost stepped on her eggs,” said Michael.

Angelo squinted and saw that the animal’s muscular body was curled around several small white spheres.

“Oh,” he said.

Michael let the grass fall back into his natural configuration, hiding the snake from view. “Angelo, you need to learn to see things from others’ perspectives.  Someone like you could easily kill that snake.  But you have to consider that she has a better reason for fighting than you do.”

Angelo furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean sometimes you’re fighting to protect something you care about and you should fight with all your might.  But sometimes the person you’re fighting is doing that, too.  And sometimes even if you could crush them, you should let them win if their reason for fighting is better than yours.”

“I don’t understand,” said Angelo.  “Your entire job is to kill demons.”

“I think if I met a demon who was a decent fellow, we would get along,” said Michael.  “I don’t have to constantly go around killing everyone. There’s more to being a warrior than that.  They were my siblings until just recently. Don’t you miss them?”

It sounded like blasphemy to Angelo, but he would not dare call out someone who so vastly outranked him. 

Michael sprawled out on the grass.  “What if we all just hung about on Earth?  And all the demons could come up and join us instead of fighting. Doesn’t that sound grand?  Just a big gathering of angels and demons living together? And the humans could come too. And I could use my sword to make sure everything stayed peaceful.”

When he did not respond, Michael sighed and leaned upright, picking grass out of his hair.  “Come on.  Let’s go back up.  You’re obviously not suited for this job.  We’ll figure something out.”

“Th-thank you, sir…”


	4. Gabriel and Angelo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/160750464610/first-meetings-part-4-gabriel-and-angelo

_9 days after the fall of man_

Gabriel was in a bad mood.

The universe had been nothing but trouble so far.  They had had to do so much shuffling around of angels in one instance after another, the latest of which was the corruption of the entire Earth. Then Michael had disappeared, and when he finally showed back up, well…

“Who did you say he had with him?” said Gabriel to his assistant testily.

“A principality,” they replied.

Gabriel ground his teeth in annoyance and made his way back to his office, already fuming.

As Gabriel slammed the door open, Michael turned to face him with a raised palm. “Gabriel! Hey!”

“And who is this?” said Gabriel, eyeing the short angel by his side.

“Oh, this is Angelo,” said Michael.  “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Gabriel stared at Michael for a few seconds.  “Michael.”

“Yeah?”

“You’ve been incorporated.”

“Yeah.”

“Who told you to do that?” Gabriel yelled.

Michael’s eyes widened, as though he hadn’t expected the other archangel to be angry.

“Come here.  Follow me outside.  Not you,” Gabriel added when Angelo made a move to go with them.

Dejected, Michael followed him outside the office. The two walked lock-step until they reached the end of the hallway and turned the corner.

“All right,” said Gabriel. “You’re incorporated, and you’ve brought a principality back with you.  Did you go down to Earth?  Is that what you did?”

Michael’s face lit up. “Gabriel, you never told me how nice the sky looks down there.”

“You _did_.”

“Have you seen a sunrise yet?” said Michael excitedly.  “Normally it’s blue, but at the right time it—”

He was cut off as Gabriel’s open palm smacked on his cheek.  Michael took a step back, hand on the red mark appearing there.

“That’s not your job, Michael.”

“Well, who cares about that?”

“Who cares? That is the only thing that matters!  You’re supposed to stay in Heaven and stand around looking impressive until someone tells you to go kill something! And you can’t even do something that simple!”

“W-well, that’s stupid,” said Michael. “Why do I have to do that?”

“If I told Metatron you said that, you would be cast out of Heaven,” said Gabriel. “You understand that, don’t you?”

Michael looked down at the ground, on the verge of tears.  But he had already resolved not to cry in front of Gabriel.

Gabriel let out a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.  “All right.  Tell me the name of the angel in the corporation division who assigned you that body so I can discipline them.”

The angel’s name had been Devian, and she had taken the time to help Michael figure out how to get into the corporation, and they had both laughed good-naturedly when he fell the first time trying to get his legs to move.

“I…I don’t remember their name,” said Michael.  “Obviously. Since I’m so stupid.”

“Obviously,” said Gabriel, sighing.  “Of course. All right, whatever.  Just give it back, and we can put all this behind us.”

Michael shook his head frantically.

“You _will_ give it back,” insisted Gabriel.  

“But without it I can’t go down to Earth.”

“You are not _supposed_ to go down there.”

“You can’t boss me around,” said Michael, growing red.  “I’m the exact same rank as you.  We’re both archangels.”

Gabriel rubbed his temples. “Michael, please just shut up and do what we tell you.  I’m sure it’s going to cause problems if you walk around in that thing.”

“I didn’t come to your office about my corporation,” said Michael defensively.  “I came because I want that principality to be my assistant.”

Gabriel squinted at him. “You want a…principality to be your assistant?”

“Well, I-I mean…we’d have to demote him first.”

“You want me to demote one of my field agents so they can fill a clerical position?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because he doesn’t like it on Earth.”

“What?” said Gabriel. “Are you serious?  That’s why you brought him up here?  Put him back.”

“But he doesn’t like it!”

“I’m sure he’ll get over it. You don’t need an assistant.”

“Yes I do!  I can never remember what time you tell me to show up to our meetings!”

“If you would just stay where you were supposed to be,” said Gabriel through gritted teeth, “then we would come find you.  We’ve told you that before.”

“You all get assistants. How come I can’t have one?”

“If you really want someone to help you so badly, I can reassign someone from up here.”

Michael crossed his arms. “No. I want _Angelo._ ”

“Having trouble?” said a voice.

They both turned to see Uriel rounding the bend.  She clasped her hands behind her back.  “Gabriel, the overseer of divine affairs on Earth, can’t even keep track of the bodies being handed out to field agents and is now arguing about their assignments with the biggest idiot Heaven has to offer.”

“Co-overseer,” muttered Gabriel.  “And may I remind you it was one of _Camael’s_ underlings, not mine, who allowed in the agent that corrupted the humans, our Father’s favourite creation?”

Uriel’s gaze swept over them both like a hawk.  “Michael, If you’re going to be running about in a corporation, you could at least cut your hair.  It looks awful that way.  Totally unpresentable.”

Michael, suddenly self-conscious, fingered the hair around his shoulders.

“He says he should be allowed to keep it,” said Gabriel, “because he is an archangel like us and therefore entitled to make decisions for himself.”

Uriel’s face peeled into a grim grin.  “Well, it’s true that you can’t _force_ him out of it.  But he must have delusions of grandeur if he thinks he’s on the same level as you.”

“Wh-what?” said Michael.

Uriel’s face went blank again.  “You’re not the same as us, Michael.  You’re a tool, not an agent.  You’ve obviously got no brain in that head of yours if you think you have any real authority around here.”

Michael crossed his arms. “You can’t treat me like this. We’re the same rank.”

“Michael, Michael,” said Uriel.  “Would you like to know what I read about you in the Book of Life?”

“Uriel…” said Gabriel quietly, “you’ve read the Book of Life?”

“Read it? I’ve torn pages out of it.”

Gabriel’s eyes widened.

“I’m the Keeper of the Divine Aura.  I had to access it to remove the names of the Fallen from it.  Rip, rip, rip.  I think God was testing me when he told me to do that, but I think I passed.”

“I guess I didn’t think it would actually…” began Gabriel.  “You tore them out?”

“And burned them with holy fire.  It is as if they never existed. The Fallen are blotted out from the Heavenly kingdom for all time.  It is the only punishment suitable for those who will not obey our Heavenly Father.” She turned to Michael.  “Anyway, I read something very interesting about _you_ in the Ineffable Book.  You are not a permanent fixture.”

“What?” said Michael.

“You are destined to become a beast.  Your purpose will come to light during the final war between Heaven and Hell, scheduled a few thousand years from now.  You will notice a gradual increase in your bloodlust every year, reaching a crescendo at the height of the war. At that point your aura will fragment and drive you into madness, becoming the mindless killing machine that will lay waste to Hell’s armies.  Armageddon will consume you completely, so that we will not have to worry about what to do with you in peacetime.”  She smiled. “And that is why you are not a real archangel like Gabriel and I.  You are made to simply do as you’re told and leave the thinking to us.  You have no more authority than your own sword.”

Michael’s hands began to shake.  “That’s a lie. God would not do that.”

“It’s not a lie.”

“I would not do that.”

“It is written in the Book. You will do it whether you like it or not.  You will become so ravenous with your hunger for blood you will hurt friend and foe alike.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“That angel you brought in with you,” added Gabriel.  “You’d kill him.  Do you see now?  Why it’s better for you not to get involved?”

Michael backed away from them slowly.

“We told you to follow directions,” said Uriel.  “You’ll bring nothing but misery on yourself doing otherwise.”

Michael spun on his heel and sprinted away.

Uriel crossed her arms. “I am not one to question our Father’s judgement, but I wonder why Michael was assigned to cast Satan out rather than join him for disobedience.  I can see we’re going to have to pull Michael’s leash a bit more forcefully than we have been.”

“Did you have to _tell_ him?” said Gabriel.  “It seems cruel he has to know about it beforehand.”

“If he cannot handle hearing the truth, that’s his problem,” said Uriel.  “Hm….Gabriel?”

“Yes?”

“You should let him have that assistant.”

“…Really?  Why?”

“Because if there’s something up here he cares about, we can get him to cooperate by threatening to take it away.”

Gabriel suddenly noticed a presence behind him.  They both turned to see Raphael standing there, looking dismayed.

“Don’t you have anything better to do than standing around gawking at us?” Uriel snapped.  “It’s not too late to demote you back down to a power of healing, you know.”

Raphael slunk away. Privately, he had quite a lot of thoughts about what he had overheard.  But he was not brave enough to do anything about it.  Or, at least, he wouldn’t be for a few thousand years.

* * *

Angelo had never been in this situation before.  He had never even met Gabriel before this despite being stationed under him, because the archangels were all very busy and he hadn’t had time to meet before Angelo was sent packing down to Earth.  And now he had been left alone in Gabriel’s office.

Some repressed, mischievous part of Angelo’s brain told him it was a little foolish to leave him in the office alone, because he could get into all kinds of trouble if he wanted to here without supervision with access to Gabriel’s things.  But that was silly.  Of course Angelo would follow the rules.

He sat down in one of the plush chairs in the room after a few minutes of standing, because he figured there was no point in standing at attention when you’re by yourself.  He scrambled upright again when he heard the doorknob click.

It was Michael, alone, and tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Now this was something that broke decorum.  Truthfully, Angelo hadn’t thought any of the archangels really _could_ get upset like that.  That seemed like something for silly little angels like him.  “Sir…?” he said.

Michael wiped his face with his palm.

“Um….What did they say?” Angelo tried.

“They...They…They said you should totally come be my assistant.  Yeah.  Totally.”

“Oh. That’s great!”

“Yeah!”

Michael stood there wringing his hands.

“Is something the matter?” Angelo finally pressed.

“O-oh,” said Michael. “Well, I…”  He sniffled, and one hand came up and idly twisted in a lock of hair.  “Angelo, what do you think of my hair like this?”

Angelo blinked at him owlishly.  “Your hair?”

“Yes.”

Angelo was having a hugely hard time processing the idea that the archangel had been that upset about his _hair,_ of all things _._  “Er…I think it looks nice, sir.”

Michael’s face became hard. “Of course it does. I knew it. What does she know?  Nothing.  She doesn’t know anything.”

“Sir?”

Tears had started leaking from his eyes again.  He did not respond.

Angelo was not sure what to do.  He was the kind of angel who was very careful to give everyone the correct due politeness. But that was mostly out of fear of being chastised.  Here, in private with another angel who was upset the same way he had been upset just recently, that was starting to fade.

Well, propriety had already gone out the window.  It should be all right to…

Angelo held out his arms.

Michael looked at him miserably for a moment before stepping forward, and Angelo closed his arms around him. Angelo barely came up to his shoulders, and his voice was muffled into the archangel’s chest as he said, “It’s okay.”


	5. Maltha and Mammon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/160786317960/first-meetings-part-5-maltha-and-mammon

_42 days after the fall of man_

Far, far away from the inner circles of Heaven, far from the lush greenery of Eden, down below the brass gates and blue skies and green grass and solid earth, at the very bottom of Hell lay the ninth circle, Satan’s residence of choice.

He did not often leave the ninth circle because he liked sitting on his throne.  He liked copying God, and God rarely left His throne.

God also had an exquisite banquet table, so Satan had one as well, an ornate fixture that was far too long and had far too many seats and shone like it was made of polished stone. Satan was currently sitting at the head of it as his guests politely talked among themselves, surveying them, satisfied with the way his kingdom was unfolding.  He was surrounded by his nobility, all the dukes and archdemons and other demons important enough to merit his attention, all the ones who had been brave enough to accept his invitation, anyway.

Satan lifted his wine goblet. The hum of conversation at the table died instantly as everyone realized their master was about to speak, and the others lifted their glasses to follow suit.

“A toast!” said Satan. “To…”

The doors to the banquet hall opened with a wooden boom.

Satan’s glass remained in the air, an angry smile on his face, waiting to see who it was who had interrupted his toast, because that would determine his level of rage.

An imp nervously hugged close to the wall to allow a new arrival to pass.  The archdemon Maltha strode in, using her staff as a walking stick. The tip of it was still covered with blood.  She took the center of the entryway, staring at Satan.

When he did not say anything, the feathers on her head rose.  “Oh, my apologies.  Am I interrupting?  I was only late because I was with a patient.”

Satan plopped himself back in his chair, his good mood ruined.  “Well, Maltha, I know I had invited all the archdemons, but I confess I hadn’t actually expected you to show up.”

Maltha’s staff disappeared, and she folded her hands primly in front of herself.  “It would be disrespectful to ignore an invitation from my lord.”

The other demons at the table whispered among themselves rapidly.  The way Maltha stood there, in a soiled white coat in the most formal banquet in Hell, grinning at knowing she had caused a disruption, indicated being respectful was not a priority for her.

But it had not been so long ago that Maltha had gone on a rampage that had concerned even Satan. There was no way to punish her without upsetting the delicate appeasement they had managed.

“Of course,” said Satan through clenched teeth.  “We’re so _glad_ you could join us.”

“I assume you have saved a seat for me?”

Satan looked rapidly around the table.  There was no seat for her.

He snapped at an imp to come over, a stormy look on his face.  “You didn’t save a place for Maltha.”

“You said she was not coming, master,” said the imp dismally.

Silence had fallen, so everyone at the table heard the imp.  Satan’s face contorted into rage, and a weapon flashed from his hand and sunk into the imp.

The lesser demon did not dare cry out even as Satan wrenched the weapon sideways and severed her arm. The momentum threw her to the floor.

“Do not disrespect me again,” Satan growled.  “Get out of my sight, and get a seat for my guest.”

Clutching what remained of her arm, the imp scurried off and did not reappear for the rest of the evening. Snickering passed through the table. Satan snapped at a second imp to remove the dismembered arm from the room and clean up the mess on the floor.

Satan took a deep breath and watched impatiently as lesser demons rushed madly to obey his commands. They set a place for Maltha in record time.  She allowed them to escort her to her seat without comment.

“My apologies, Maltha,” said Satan.  “I hope your servants are more competent than mine.  I trust you are satisfied with your arrangements?”

“Of course,” said Maltha, looking down at the dishes set before her.

“I mean your clinic in the third circle.  Is it everything you wanted?”

Maltha cast her gaze up at Satan, then at the other demons at the table.  She could see they were still somewhat afraid of her.

She was fine with that.

She raised her wine goblet to her lips, thinking of her missing healer. “You have provided me with everything within your capacity, apparently.  Who am I to complain?”

Once again, such subtle disrespect that there was no way to call it out without making a scene. Satan couldn’t simply cut her arm off, though, not someone like _her._ Another round of snickers rolled through the table, which Satan silenced with a glare.  He raised his wine glass to her.  “Well, let me know if there is anything else you would like.”

“Thank you, lord.  And I trust everyone at this table will let me know if they have need of my services.”

The laughter was less subtle this time.

“I don’t think _we’ll_ need your help,” said an archdemon, whose name was Asmodeus.  “I mean, I don’t think anything is going to hurt _us_.”

Maltha’s beady red eyes turned to Asmodeus.  “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Asmodeus.  The speed with which you fled from me when we first met would lead me to believe you think yourself rather delicate.”

Asmodeus flushed beet red and turned her attention back towards her platter.  The demon beside her shook with suppressed guffaws.

“Nevertheless,” said another archdemon, whose name was Dagon, “I should think only lesser demons will need your services, Maltha.  You would do wise not to meddle in others’ affairs.”

It was a polite way of saying _Stay the hell away from me._ There was no way to tell for sure who would win in a fight between Maltha and any other archdemon at the table, but she had torn through dukes and other high-rankings demons as though they were made out of paper, and no one was interested in finding out the limits of her abilities.

“Agreed,” said another archdemon, Agares.  “Only the archangel Michael himself could pose a threat to us.”

“Maybe we should arrange a meeting, then,” said Maltha.  “I’m sure someone with your ego wouldn’t stand to be killed by anyone less.”

“Ladies, gentlemen, guests,” said Satan.  “Please. This is supposed to be a peaceful and relaxing event.  I can’t stand this petty bickering.  Let’s focus on pleasant topics for now.”

Maltha sipped her wine silently as conversation slowly returned to as it had been before her arrival. She did not engage anyone else for the duration of the meal, although the archdemon of greed kept sending glances her way as though she wanted to talk, which were summarily ignored.

The conversation from then on was polite and shallow.  Someone mentioned finding a body of water cool enough to swim in the fourth layer of Hell.  Someone else mentioned they had ventured up to Earth, but had only stayed for a few minutes because they hadn’t found it to their liking.  It went on like this for what seemed like forever.

It was unclear to Maltha what the purpose of the dinner had been, because nothing of much significance happened and soon enough everyone was clearing out.

Maltha remained seated. Occasionally someone made a positive or negative comment to her as they passed to exit, but she ignored them all moodily.

The archdemon of greed lingered by her side a moment longer, to say, “Maltha, I’d like to talk to you in private after this.”

“Fuck off,” Maltha told her, without making eye contact.

The other archdemon moved off without further comment, though with no sense of resignation.  

The imps peered out from the entrance of what was presumably the kitchen as the guests left, anxious to start clearing the dishes away lest they be chastised for not doing it quickly enough, but afraid to approach while Satan was still seated at the table.

The last duke bid his lord farewell and left the door open behind him.  Soon it was only Satan and Maltha alone in the room.  

Satan stood and approached, smiling politely at her.  “Please let me know if there is anything else you want, Maltha.  I want everyone serving me to be satisfied with their accommodations.”

Maltha rolled her wine glass in her hand.  “They’re all cowards and bullies, and so are you.”

Satan’s grin cracked into the forced, overly polite expression of someone desperately suppressing the urge for violence.  “I am doing everything in my power to maintain peace here, Maltha.  You get nothing from being so antisocial.  Nobody forced you to come to this banquet, which I held out of the goodness of my own heart for my dear friends.”

“Is that why you held it?” muttered Maltha, tossing back the remainder of her wine.

“You’re welcome to anywhere in the ninth layer; I understand the other archdemons are finding their lairs quite appealing.  But don’t sit down here in the empty banquet hall by yourself for too long.  Why don’t you look around at the accommodations down here to see if anything strikes your fancy?”

“I already have accommodations in the third layer.”

“The clinic.  Of course.”  He waved a hand at her as he exited.  “Have a fair evening, Maltha.”

The door shut behind him. Maltha remained where she was, still rolling her goblet.  The imps peeked out, seemingly more scared of being alone with Maltha, still not approaching the table.

Maltha’s eyes flickered up to them, and they scattered back into darkness to avoid her notice.  She tossed her wine goblet onto the table before hauling herself up and lumbering towards them.

* * *

Abraxas was crying. She had not even bothered trying to continue her normal duties after Satan had torn her arm off, and she was certain that she would be punished for it.   _I’m missing an arm, I can’t physically do them_ was not a good enough excuse. She would be punished for not doing her duties.

So Abraxas had just hidden herself in the best place she could find.  She had told herself she would just hide long enough to decide what to do, but the hours wore on and on and she could not decide, and coming out at this point would mean more pain.  It was going to take forever for her arm to grow back, if it would happen at all.  The other demons certainly wouldn’t accommodate or help her at all, and that was _if_ they didn’t take advantage of her condition to do something to her.

She was done for. Nobody above her was going to have any patience or compassion for her, and neither would anyone around her. Imps were disposable.

What then?  Try to get away?  To where?  The lesser demons who served the archdemons in the ninth layer were basically trapped there. She would also be punished for trying to leave.

She could think of no course of action where she came out alive.  Hell didn’t have any healers.

Well, it had one healer.  But everyone knew she was completely mad.  Delusional. Nobody really believed Maltha was going to be a healer like it had worked in Heaven, and everyone just hoped that Satan’s offer would keep her occupied.  And she could kill Abraxas with a wave of her hand.  Meeting her would surely be a disaster.  

For a while it had seemed as though Maltha would destroy all the legions of Hell in her anger, or die trying.  Many of the imps in the ninth layer had actually come here to get _away_ from the danger of powerful, ill-tempered demons outside, thinking Satan would protect them.

Abraxas’s hand crept to her bloody shoulder, sobbing anew.

She was on her own. So she just sat there crying, huddled against the sink in the darkened back room.

Voices sounded through the door, muffled but raised in alarm.  They formed into words as the door swung open and let them into the room.

“Lord Maltha, this room isn’t in a condition—prepared for your—inspection—  There is nothing of interest back there—”

Abraxas tensed as she heard the scrape of clawed feet on the floor.  The voices were silenced as the door swung shut again.

Abraxas clamped her hand over her mouth, trying not to let her terrified sobs out.  Footsteps on the floor meandered around the room, but she could not bring herself to try and get away.

A head appeared, peering at her from over the counter she was huddled behind.  Maltha’s terrifying eyes focused on her like a predator.  Abraxas returned her stare through tears.

“Stand up,” she said.

Abraxas did so, her hand clamped on her wound, trying not to shake and failing miserably.  

Maltha’s hands were surprisingly gentle on her shoulders.  “Let me see.”

“Lord M-Maltha, you need not concern yourself with a l-lowly—”

“Let me see,” she hissed.

That was the last time Abraxas tried to go against her.  She lowered her hand, baring herself and silently begging the archdemon to be merciful.

Maltha prodded the wound. “I’ll have to take you back to my clinic to treat you.”

Maltha clamped her hand on Abraxas’s arm and dragged her out of the room.  The rest of the staff watched her be led out without expression, just relieved that they were not in trouble themselves.

Abraxas was having a hard time walking; she was light-headed, and having her arm missing was disorienting. She tripped when they were almost to the exit to the banquet hall.

“Don’t you know how to walk?” Maltha said, yanking her back up.

Abraxas swallowed and tried to steady herself.

The banquet hall lights had been dimmed, and it was empty except for an enormously fat woman-shaped being loitering at the cleared table.

Maltha stopped.  The woman looked up at her, hauled herself up, and lumbered over.

“Mammon,” said Maltha. “Between making eyes at me throughout the meal and accosting me afterwards, I should have guessed you might hunt me down.  What do you want?”

“What are you doing to that imp?” said Mammon.  “The poor thing is terrified.”

Maltha looked down at Abraxas as though just noticing the lesser demon’s anxiety for the first time. “Why do you care what happens to an imp?” Maltha growled.

“I could ask you the same question.”  

Maltha’s lip drew back in a sneer.  “It’s not like I care for her.  It is my job.“

“Your job?  The job that you fought to get back?  We told you you didn’t have to do that anymore.”

“So what?” said Maltha. Abraxas winced as the archdemon’s hand on her arm squeezed violently.  “Everyone said themselves I had no place here, and I forced them to admit otherwise! This is the only thing I’m good at!”

“The swathe of destruction you carved on your way to your current position would prove otherwise, Maltha. You should be leading Hell’s armies.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be wasting your time playing doctor.  Nobody takes you seriously for that.”

“What are you saying?” Maltha snarled.  “Get to the point.”

“Come on, Maltha,” said Mammon.  “It’s obvious that you would be a better ruler than Satan.  I’m either the only one smart enough to see it, or the only one brave enough to admit it.”

“What could possibly make you think that?” said Maltha.  “Don’t think you’ll get anywhere by flattery.”

“Satan is not who I knew and followed in Heaven.  Satan is not Lucifer anymore.  I don’t know why he’s like this now, but I beg you to give me the chance to change allegiances.  You can make Hell something great, something better than Heaven.  I know you can.  I would back you in a bid to overthrow Satan.  The two of us could do it together.  I wouldn’t be able to do it myself.  I don’t even want a special position under you.  Just a different lord on Hell’s throne.”

“You’re blabbering nonsense,” said Maltha.  “What is going on in your head?”

“You still love.”

Maltha’s claws sunk into Abraxas’s arm, and she cried out in pain, which Maltha did not heed.  “I don’t love,” snarled Maltha.  “No demon loves!  That would be disgusting!  I ought to kill you where you stand for saying that!”

Mammon looked at her through watery eyes.  “I wish you could see it, Maltha.  It is so obvious to me.”  Her gaze shifted down to the imp.  “You’re going to get her killed, you know.”

“Now you’re trying to insult my healing skills?”

“I mean after that.  You’re going to drag this low-level demon past everyone in the layers of Hell between here and your clinic, and they’re all going to see how weak and damaged she is.  Even if you heal her, someone will pounce on her as soon as you leave.”

Maltha looked down at the little demon, who had started crying again.  

“It would be kinder to kill her now.”

“Get out of my sight,” said Maltha.  “I can’t look at you.  Get out of here before I kill you.  You think you can speak to me like this?”

Mammon sighed and trundled towards the door.  “I mean what I said.  I would put myself under your command at a moment’s notice.  Let me know if you change your mind, Maltha.”

Maltha stared the other archdemon’s back as she exited, leaving the two alone in the room.

“Come on,” said Maltha. Her voice was tense now, full of anger, and Abraxas was certain now that she was going to die if the archdemon was in this foul of a mood.

Maltha forced her to walk all the way up to the third layer as promised.  They passed by clusters of demons who followed her with hungry, interested eyes, noting her vulnerability.  Abraxas shied away and hugged as close to Maltha as she could, the most promising source of safety despite the eventuality.  

Her stay in the clinic was surprisingly tolerable.  It was mild as far as torture went, and in the end her arm _was_ healed, which Abraxas refused to admit she was shocked about. She also refused to admit all her anxiety had been about nothing, sure that some horrible fate was still in store for her even as Maltha shuffled her to the exit of the clinic.

“Let me know if you start having symptoms again,” said the archdemon.  “Stay away from heavy lifting for the next few days.”

“O-okay,” said Abraxas.

Abraxas looked silently out at the third layer, frozen in the doorway.

“Is something wrong?”

She thought of the long walk back down, and of the demons who had eyed her like a steak on the way up. There was no way she could make it. Perhaps she could ask Maltha to escort her.  Unless…?

“You are free to leave,” said Maltha.  “Unless you still feel ill?”

Abraxas’s gaze shifted from the entrance down to the fourth layer up to the exit to the second.  “We are in the third circle of Hell, correct?”

“Yes.”

A plan was hatching in her mind.  The demons _above_ her hadn’t seen her walk by with her injury.  She was still very low-level, with a small aura, so she would still be vulnerable, but the trip _up_ out of Hell was much shorter than the one down to the bottom of it.  Her thoughts about escape earlier came back.  Escape to _where?_

Up.  To Earth.  She had heard whispers of it, overhead conversations not meant for her.  The sky was blue on Earth.  Everyone was still a little afraid to go up there because there were angels there.

Well, if that was the Earth had in store for her, she thought it might be worth it to see that blue sky.  The only people who might notice she was gone would have no authority to come up and get her. No more servitude, no more being at the whim of those who could crush her with their thumb.

It would take a mad dash through the second and first layers of Hell to reach the exit.  But then it would be just her and the blue sky.

Abraxas took a step away from the clinic.  “Thank you, Maltha.”

Maltha’s red eyes rested on her as she continued to tentatively step in the wrong direction. “The ninth layer is the other way.”

“I know,” said Abraxas, finally turning away and picking up her pace.

She felt Maltha’s eyes drilling into her back, but the archdemon made no move to stop her. And when Abraxas finally broke into a sprint, flapping her wings madly and shedding the tie and vest of her server’s uniform, she didn’t stop until she felt grass under her feet.


	6. Maltha and Beth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/160912606495/first-meetings-part-6-maltha-and-beth
> 
>  
> 
> ***Warning: This chapter contains strong transphobic language.***

_Three years ago_

It was a nice day. The beach was littered with families on vacation, towels and picnic baskets and bottles of sunscreen and various other things anyone might conceivably need scattered along the beach like blooming flowers under the summer sun.

Nigel Tompkins, Assistant Head (Purchasing, retired) was on the beach with his wife.  He had finally retired and decided to move far, far away from the place where he had gotten shot and seen something so terrible it had made him black out.  The two of them were sharing a relaxing day, watching the surf wave in and lap at the shore, drag back out into the ocean, and then come back in as pounding waves that dwindled into a gentle lapping about the ankles.

He and his wife both watched as a person appeared in the waves, not from the shore but up from the ocean itself.  A head with dark hair bobbed up to the surface, only to be battered towards shore by the waves.

They watched with considerable confusion as the person struggled in the water, tumbling over and over by the force of the water, going under and then coming back up again, flailing as though trying to maintain some sense of control, being pushed further towards shore.  

Finally, the person landed with a _splat_ on the wet sand.  She was wearing a white dress that clung to her wetly and dripped as she hauled herself to her feet, panting and shaking herself.

Nigel moved his sunglasses up to his forehead, but did not get up from his reclining chair. “Goodness, are you all right?”

“Nigel, is that a man or a woman?” said his wife.

“Someone comes out of the bloody ocean and your first question is whether it’s a man or a woman,” said Nigel.

“S’just asking,” said his wife.  “If it’s a _she_ she might be a mermaid.”

“I don’t think mermaids are supposed to have red eyes.  Or legs.”

The huge figure dragged herself off the shore and onto dry sand.  “Is this America?”

“Mm, yes,” said Nigel. “I’m afraid it is.”

Maltha scanned the beach full of tourists and the wooden shacks beyond.  “Where are the deep-fried Oreos?”

* * *

A small desert lizard which had been sunning itself on a rock found itself seized by the talons of a great black bird and summarily devoured.  When nothing but the tail was left, the bird transformed into a woman licking her fingers, the twitching remains still pinched between her fingers.

The archdemon Maltha was currently in the middle of her longest foray into Earth’s sights she had ever taken. She hadn’t been out of Hell for so long since her fall.  She was in a state of near-permanent bewilderment with everything she had seen since she had left Crowley and Aziraphale.  She had never had any idea how much complexity the Earth contained, and now Hell, which had always been her entire universe, seemed impossibly small in comparison.

She wasn’t sure where she was.  She had spent a while on the beach and helped a small girl make a sand castle, but had left after that and followed the rising sun until it led her to a place that reminded her more of Hell than anything she had encountered on Earth before.

It was scorching hot. It was rocky alternating with sand.  And it had weak, vulnerable life hiding in crevices if you knew where to look.

Maltha was not a being inclined to feel guilty, but…she did, a little. Because she had always maintained that no one should love God’s creation. But she was enjoying it, even more than she thought she would. The bustle of human civilization had its own unique charms, but she particularly enjoyed nature.  The forest had been peaceful.  The ocean had been challenging, but engaging.  Even the barren desert yielded new and interesting things.  Tough, waxy plants could be coerced to provide her with a sweet, red fruit between their spines.  They tasted even better than the small animals she would occasionally find by digging under the sand.

She was having a fun time trying a bite of everything she encountered.  She had once treated a demon who had gotten a stomachache doing the exact same thing, but she couldn’t remember the demon’s name.

The unrestrained sun beat down on her harshly, but she needn’t be sunburned or overheated if she didn’t wish it, which she didn’t.  She removed her dress and vanished it, standing stark naked on a sand dune, nothing but empty desert dotted with cacti and odd rocks for as far as the eye could see.

She let her wings loose and kicked up sand as she took to the air, climbing higher and higher until she could see some sign of human life in the distance.  She changed direction so that she was heading towards it, getting herself oriented, then folded her wings in.

The ground rushed up at her very quickly, and she struck the dune full speed, rolling over and over down it. She landed on her back, sand all stuck in her feathers, and lay there for a while, looking up at the sky.

The sun wavered on the horizon, slowly sinking down and streaking the sky pink and red.  Maltha held her hand out and waved a wad of cotton candy into existence, holding it against the sky, then taking a bite out of it.

Darkness began to creep into the sky in the sun’s absence.  And here is the truth: Maltha had never seen the unimpeded night sky before.  The leaves of the forest had blocked her view. You couldn’t see it from underwater very well.  And all the light pollution had blocked out the stars.

She got her first view of the milky way in the American southwest desert, the dusty streak becoming visible the further the sun faded, and by the time it was completely dark, the stars were out in full force to accompany it.

Maltha’s mouth fell open. “Wh…what is that?”

She had never seen anything so beautiful.  Never in her entire life. Nothing in Heaven could compare to the pinpricks of twinkling light splattered over that dark canvas.

The guilt she had felt earlier suddenly turned outwards into unbridled rage.  She leapt up from the sand and pointed at the sky.  “What is this?  What the _fuck_ is this?”

Unsurprisingly, the sky did not answer her.

“Are you _kidding_ me?”

The sky glowed at her impassively.

“ _This_ is what you give humans?   _This_ is what they get _after_ they’ve fucked up and fallen from your grace? This planet and this—this…” She jumped up, waving her hands at the sky.  “ _This?_  They get _this_ just for decoration?  I knew they were your favourite creations, but _come on._ What do _we_ get when we fuck up _once?_  Hell? The Lake of Fire?  The Pit?  Darkness and torture? Are you _kidding_ me?”

She fell to her knees. All the homesickness for Heaven she had been denying for six-thousand years rushed in at once, and tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Why are you _like_ this?” she sobbed.  “Why does everyone get mercy except us?  ...except me?”

The sky continued glowing like it always did, oblivious to her cries.  And it was here, miles away from any demon, angel, or human to hear her, that she would say:

“I’m sorry.”

Her tearful eyes turned up towards the sky.  “I’m sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?  I’m sorry.  I’m nothing compared to you.  I can’t question you.  I beg for your mercy.”

The night air was still, the stars cold.

She stood, kicking sand up. “Hey!   _Hey!_  I know you can hear me!   _Answer me!_ ”

An insect nearby began to chirp.  Coldness began to seep into her corporation.  A small voice in her head whispered, _He doesn’t answer prayers from demons._

“Fuck you!” she screamed upwards.  “You can’t make me with an inclination to question and then punish me for acting on it! If you wanted stupid, submissive dolls why didn’t you just _make them?_ ”

The air was quiet.

“Fuck you!” she repeated, taking a step forwards, loosing her footing, and tumbling down a sand dune. She righted herself, brushed herself off, and kept walking.  “You didn’t make this planet for me but I’m going to enjoy it and love every square meter of it just to piss you off.”

With that proclamation, she walked towards the human constructions she had seen in the distance.

* * *

Maltha ended up sleeping off her foul temper using the sand as a pillow and blanket.  She was awoken by the sensation of the sun hot on her stomach again, and she decided it was time to leave the empty wilderness behind because it left her alone with her thoughts too much.

She had learned by now that humans expected you to wear clothes and not doing so would distress them, so she replaced her dress before coming into sight of the suburbs. She kept walking until she was in the city itself.  That was where interesting things were bound to be seen.

It wasn’t fundamentally different than the last few cities she had visited.  Huge grey buildings she sometimes was not allowed to go into, sidewalks that were empty most of the time and then filled to the brim at certain hours, humans asking her for money or a cigarette or simply ogling her, other humans trying to get her to buy things as she walked by, still others trying to give her leaflets with Bible verses on them.

She usually hissed at those ones, and made her eyes flash red just for good measure. Their reactions were usually entertaining.

She passed by a department store when she encountered the main street, and noticed a mannequin in the window wearing something that caught her eye because it was very brightly colored.

Green.  That was a color she hadn’t seen much of in Hell. A nice green dress, with a pristine white bow at the hip.  She turned sideways to judge how it would fit on her frame, then walked away wearing an identical dress a few minutes later.

The second thing she did in this new place was find a human standing behind a cart peddling food. She ordered something called a hot dog, which turned out to be similar to a sausage and served surrounded by bread and a smattering of random nonsense the man had on his cart.  She watched, intrigued, as he covered it with a red paste, then a yellow paste, then smothered it with some chopped plant that smelled very strongly.  She desperately wanted to know the names of what was going on it, but she was too embarrassed to ask.

When the human handed it to her, he asked for a dollar and fifty cents, which she suddenly realized she did not have.  In the end she ended up bolting away without paying, which she did not feel guilty about, being an agent of the Evil One and all that.

When she was a safe distance away from the scene of that particular sin, she settled into a park and ate her illicitly gained hot dog.  As she did so, a small grey bird came up and eyed her intensely, neck bobbing with each step closer to her.  It took a good five minutes of her interrogating it for her to realize it was just a bird and not a demon in animal form seeking an audience with her.

When she finally realized what it wanted, she tore off a small bit of her food and tossed it to the bird.  It dashed forwards and gobbled it up as though it were starving.  This drew the attention of some others nearby, which fluttered over hoping for handouts too.  Soon enough there was an entire flock around Maltha’s ankles.

They were kind of charming. They looked very soft, like doves. Some had iridescent necks.  Some were mottled with white and brown spots. She briefly thought about trying to eat one before deciding against it, on account of the fact that they looked somewhat dirty.

She tossed the remainder of her meal onto the ground, then shifted into bird-shaped herself.  The pigeons found this somewhat startling, but they were not really smart enough to remember it for very long, so soon they closed the ranks of the flock around her, her black bulk standing out among their stone-colored feathers.

An old woman came into the park a few minutes after that, seating herself on the bench nearby just as the pigeons finished polishing off the bun.  They crowded around the newcomer, heedless of any concerns of safety. Maltha hopped onto the back of the bench.

“What a pretty bird,” cooed the woman, beginning to toss out stale bread.  “Nice crow. Big crow.”

“I’m actually a raven,” said Maltha.

The woman blinked at her slowly.  Maltha shifted from foot to foot.

“Oh,” said the woman, sounding far away. “Sorry, then.”

Maltha hopped down onto the bench and grabbed the bag of breadcrumbs with her beak.  They spilled everywhere, and the pigeons swarmed like sharks on a corpse.  The old woman did not protest, watching the pigeons snap them up.

Once the old woman was out of food, Maltha moved off.  The pigeons followed her, apparently hoping Maltha would bully more humans into dropping something edible.  She entertained herself for a while by finding a food court and knocking things off tables.  Her escort of pigeons swelled to include an arm of sparrows as well as some robins and cowbirds.  Eventually they started copying her and grew more bold, snatching French fries and pizza toppings and bits of hamburger off of plates sometimes even while the humans were still eating them.

The ill-mannered birds had practically taken over the square by the time Maltha got bored and flew off. It would be a few weeks before any human could safely eat there again.

She flew to a different part of town, one with lower buildings.  She perched on a fence and watched people walking by for a while, because people treated you differently if you looked like an animal than if you looked like a person, and that was still interesting.  A man in a black coat covered with spiked jewelry told her that she was a good omen, which she thought was probably a compliment.

She passed the remainder of the day not doing much of anything, and soon the sun began to creep down the horizon, the streetlights flicking on one by one.  She alighted on top of one to observe the changes in activity as the day changed to night.

Something caught her eye: a yawning doorway leading into some indiscernible blackness.  White lights flashed from it intermittently, and a powerful bass was grinding out.  She could vaguely make out human figures moving with wild motion inside.

This was new.  It reminded her of the second circle of Hell, but humans seemed to be going into it willingly.  She circled around the block, changed shape, and then made her way back, staring at the place with hesitation for a few moments.

She shuffled forwards to try and investigate, but a human blocked her way.

“I’ll need to see some ID,” said the man, who was _almost_ as tall as Maltha herself.  He gave her a once-over and added unsurely, “…Ma’am.”

“You’ll need no such thing,” said Maltha.  “I am the archdemon Maltha.  My reputation is enough to strike fear into the hearts of—”

“Listen,” said the man, cutting her off.  “Everyone has to show ID to get in.  No exceptions.  You’re obviously over 21, but rules are rules.”

“I am thousands of years old.  Let me pass.”

“Okay there, buddy, if you’re not going to show ID I’m going to need you to step aside.  There are people behind you.”

Maltha turned back and saw a group of humans looking annoyed with her.  She stepped to the side, unsure of how to proceed.  The inside of the building was a frenzy of light, heat, and motion that she hadn’t seen yet.  She _had_ to experience what it was like inside.  She could gain entry illicitly, but that might cause a disruption, and she wanted to see this place in its natural state.  It defeated the purpose if she didn’t do it the human way.

She watched with hawkish interest as the group moved past her and showed the man at the door some laminated cards, which he examined before ushering them in.

Maltha reached into her pocket, where there was now a card like the ones she had seen, hastily duplicated. She strolled back up at the tail of the party, pulled the card out of her pocket, and handed it to him.  He held it up dubiously.  

“I know a fake license when I see one,” said the man.  “For chrissake.  This doesn’t even have a _birthday_ on it.  Scram, weirdo.”

Maltha hissed, waving her hand in front of the man’s face, and his expression went slack. “Wh…what’s…”

Maltha removed her hypnotizing hand and stuck it in her pocket.  “You were just examining my ID and finding that everything was in order.”

He looked muzzily down at the license, as though he hadn’t seen it before.  He squinted to examine it.  “Birthday…Okay, you’re over 21…But there’s no address.”

Maltha gave another hiss of frustration, waved her hand and wiped his memory again.  “I think you’ll find it’s got everything on it that it needs.”

He looked at her dully. “Right.  Of course.”

She ripped it out of his hand as he handed it back to her, and he let her pass, finally.

She was confused already. Why did they need to know her birthday? She had learned so far that humans used birthdays for celebrations, but it didn’t seem feasible that they would only let in humans celebrating birthdays.  And her address?  Why did he need to know where she lived?  She filed it away to think about later, as she had with many things that confused her so far.  Maybe she could ask Crowley about it.

No.  She had vowed she would do this herself.  Next time she saw Aziraphale and Crowley, she wanted to approach them as equals.  She was an archdemon.  She would not contact them again until she knew everything about the planet those two loved so much.  The planet that she was coming to love.

She kept the card in her pocket, thinking she might need it again.  The light from the doorway faded as she was swallowed up by the current of sounds and light.  The wide open room was absolutely packed with human bodies all moving in disorganized chaos, writhing and winding and wiggling rhythmically in time to the vibrations and ear-shattering sounds washing over them.  Indistinct shouting, the smell of tobacco, and strobing lights all filled the space.

Maltha stood at the edge of this scene, absolutely blown away.  She had never seen anything like this yet on Earth.  It disregarded a lot of what she thought she had learned about humans so far, such as their dislike for loud sounds, their need for steady light to see, their habit of needing personal space….it went on and on.  But they all looked like they were having an immensely good time.

She hung at the brink of the crowd, afraid to step onto the floor where everyone was carrying out this strange activity.

She felt someone brush against her.  She looked down to see a man steady himself from bumping into her.

“Dude,” he said. “What the fuck?”

“Excuse me?” she said, then realized she had not talked loudly enough and her words had been swallowed by the chaos around her.

“Are you a dude or a chick?”

She furrowed her brow. “Am I what?”

The man’s cheeks were inflamed, and Maltha suddenly realized he was drunk.  He leaned in closer to her and shouted, “Do you have a dick?”

Maltha had never been asked this before.  She had thought it would fall outside the bounds of what humans considered appropriate to ask another person.  She couldn’t figure out how she was expected to respond, so she did the first thing that came to mind:

“Do _you_ have a dick?” she shouted back, punching the man in the arm.  A group of people nearby erupted into laughter.

“She’s a trap, dude,” slurred someone nearby.

“Fucking tranny,” said another.

Maltha furrowed her brow at them.  She had heard this word before but hadn’t been able to figure out what it meant.  She was not aware of why her appearance would merit attention because her type of body was not unusual among either angels or demons, so she had never elicited such strange reactions until she had started interacting with humans.  It seemed to have something to do with the way she dressed.

“Stop being an asshole,” said a woman’s voice nearby.

“What?  She is,” said one of the first voices.

“Hey,” said the man in front of her, trying to put his arm around her shoulders.  He failed because she was so much taller than him, so he settled for sliding his arm into the crook of her elbow instead. “You—Your—Have you ever—“

“You are inebriated,” she said to him.  “That means there’s alcohol here.”

The man laughed.  “Of course.  What the fuck you expect?  We’re in a _club._ ”

“A club,” murmured Maltha. “Is that what this is….Of course…” She spotted a counter in the distance where someone was pouring drinks.  She could pick up the scent of alcohol all the way across the room.

Alcohol was something she knew she liked.  It was worth braving the sea of bodies.  She started forwards.

The man’s hand tugged on her arm, pulling her back.  She whipped around.  “Do not try to restrict my movements.”

“Well _excuse_ me, princess,” said the man.  “Come on, my friends are over there.”

“I have no desire to meet your friends.”

A group of people seated behind the man, equally drunk, called to him boisterously.  “Come on,” he slurred.

“No,” said Maltha.

The man grabbed her arm again.  “Hey, you should be happy anyone is interested in you at all, you fucking faggot tranny freak.”

Maltha looked down at him, eyes flaring predatorily.  This series of venomous words, and only this, was enough to make her realize his behaviour thus far had been motivated by extreme disrespect.

The man, seeming to sense her anger, tried to restore his control of the situation by muttering, “You could at least shave your legs.”

Maltha’s face broke into a wide smile filled with teeth that were suddenly just a bit too sharp for a human face.  She leaned in towards him.  He backed up a little.

“Hey!” she shouted over the music.  “Don’t you think you should go to the doctor and get that infection in your bladder checked out?”

“I don’t have an infection,” he said indignantly.

Maltha placed one hand on his shoulder and squeezed.  “You do now.”

She turned away and plunged into the crowd, leaving him staring at the back of her head.  He would never make the connection as to why, but for the next few years the painful infection in his urinary tract would mysteriously flare up again every time he typed the phrase “Liking traps makes you gay.”

Maltha waded through drunk, merry humans who came up to her shoulders and only breathed again when she reached the counter and took a seat at one of the stools there.  The barkeep was busy mixing a drink for someone else, so she waited silently, splaying her hands out on the counter.

“Hey.”

She turned to see a blonde woman seating herself next to her, flashing her a smile.  “I heard what those guys were saying to you back there. I’m sorry they did that, honey bun.”

Maltha squinted at her. “What did you just call me?”

“Er…” said the woman. “Sorry.”

“Honey…?”

“Er,” she said, “I just wanted to tell you not to pay attention to what they said.  I think you look nice in that dress. Green is my favourite colour.”

“I think it is mine, too.”

“I’ll remember that.” The woman tried in vain to get the bartender’s attention, then sat back.  “So, who did you come in with?  I recognize someone getting dragged here by their friend a mile away. Hanging back by the entrance, then straight for the alcohol.”

“I am here alone.”

“Really?  Want to buy me a drink, then?”

It was then that Maltha realized she didn’t have any money.  Surely she could just miracle some, right?  “Money seems to be what drives everything here…”

“If that ain’t the truth,” said the woman.  “I’ll buy you one, then.”

Maltha had the more body mass out of the two, so it took her a lot longer to get drunk.  Or at least, it would have if she hadn’t been surreptitiously adjusting the alcohol content of her drinks upwards as they came to her.

“It’s just hard, you know?” slurred the woman after they had both lost count of their drinks. “Like…When it’s a man…obviously he’s supposed to pay…but when it’s two chicks…like which pays?  It’s awkward as hell.”

Maltha furrowed her brow. “Why does the man pay?”

“Fuck, I dunno,” she said.

“Humans seem to place a great deal of meaning on gender.”

“Yeah,” said the woman. “Like…if it’s two women…is one of them ‘the man’?  Everyone asks that, you know?”

“I assume they both stay women.”

“Right?  It’s bullshit.  It can just be two women.  Like, it doesn’t matter.”

Maltha looked at her helplessly.  “I’m not sure I follow you.”

“God,” said the woman, her head falling into the crook of her elbow.  “What am I doing with my life?  I’m a mess.  I’m pathetic.”

Maltha reached out and placed a hand on her head.  “You’re wonderful.”

“Ahhhhhh,” said the woman. “Do you want to go back to my place?”

“I would be honoured.”

“Wh-what, really?” she said. “That usually doesn’t work for women.”

“Yes, let’s go.”

The woman took Maltha’s hand and led her back through the sea of bodies.  “Mark!” she yelled.  “Mark!”

“Beth, what the fuck?” said a man, appearing and clamping a hand on her arm.  “What are you screaming at me for?”

“I need to go home now.”

“Already?” said the man, Mark.  “But it’s only….God, are you drunk _already_?”

“You’re the designated driver,” said the woman, Beth, tugging on his sleeve.  “Fuck…ing… _Drive_ me.”

Mark looked over Beth’s shoulder into Maltha’s eyes, which were glowing faintly with the flashes of light breaking the darkness.  “Fine. I’ll just come back afterwards.”

It was dark when they went outside, the silence and stillness of the night air deafening after the uproar inside.  Mark slid into the driver’s seat of a beat-up red car and started it up.  Beth took the front seat.  Maltha had a hard time fitting in the back seat; her head grazed the ceiling.

“Beth, are you sure about this?” said Mark.  “You’re pretty drunk.  Don’t do something you might regret.”

“I’m an adult, Mark,” she said, hiccupping.  “God, I’m sorry I was rude earlier.  You’re a good friend.  God, I was so rude.  Thanks for the ride.  But I’m an adult.”

Mark glanced in the rearview mirror at Maltha as they exited the parking lot.  “All right, all right.”

It only took them ten minutes to reach an apartment building.

“Wait,” said Mark, grabbing Beth’s arm as she moved to get out of the vehicle.  He nodded towards Maltha.  “Beth, you’re sure she’s…?”

“She’s what?”

“You know…”

Beth stuck one finger up in Mark’s face.  “You know _what_ , Mark, you know _what?_   Stop it. I’m done.  Goodbye.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Maltha took that as her cue to extricate herself from the back seat and stand on the sidewalk next to Beth.

“Call me if anything happens,” said Mark. Here he leaned out of the car window and motioned Maltha to come closer.  Maltha leaned down so Mark could whisper to her.

“Listen, Beth’s going through some shit right now, and we’re all afraid she’s going to fly off the rails any day now.  Please just show her a good time, all right?  She could use it.”

Maltha felt herself pushed to the side as Beth shouldered her way into Mark’s personal space instead. She pointed her finger at him again, expression fluctuating rapidly as she drunkenly tried to find something to say.

“Yeah, all right,” she eventually said.  “You can _go_ now.”

She glared at Mark’s car as he drove off.  As soon as he was out of sight, she sagged onto Maltha.  “God, I’m sorry.  I’m so drunk.”

“It’s all right,” said Maltha.  Beth seemed like she was suffering, so Maltha miracled a bit of the alcohol out of her bloodstream.  Her BAC dropped from .08% down to .02%.

“Oh….” said Beth. “God, you’re hot.  Let’s go upstairs?  Let’s go to my place?”

“I assumed that was what we had been doing this whole time.”

Beth seemed to have regained a bit of her senses, and she wasn’t leaning on Maltha as heavily as they climbed the stairs to her apartment.

“What was I thinking?” she said aloud as they made their way down the hallway to her apartment.  “My place is a mess.  This is awful.  You’re going to think I’m a loser.  What was I thinking?”

“Beth,” said Maltha, placing one hand on Beth’s shoulder.  “Relax.”

Beth untensed a little at that.  “Sorry…”

With a jangle of keys, the door came open.  Beth flicked the light on, illuminating a small space littered with wrinkled clothes, empty cups and bowls, and books flung open here and there.

“Eheheh, sorry…” said Beth again, sheepishly clearing a path by kicking things out of the way.  “I’ve been busy and I didn’t expect to have anyone over.”

“I’m honoured that you trust me enough to admit me,” said Maltha, who had always had to force her way into others’ strongholds, usually with some amount of violence.

“Yeah,” said Beth. “The bedroom is back here.  Unless you’re hungry first?  Or something?  More to drink?”

Maltha shook her head. “I think I’ve had quite enough.  I shouldn’t get carried away.”

“God, I wish I were more responsible like you,” said Beth, picking her way back to the bedroom. “Come on, then, unless you’ve changed your mind.”

Maltha was not entirely sure what Beth wanted to show her in the bedroom, but she thought it was probably something good if Beth wanted to take her all the way home from the club.

The bedroom was in a similar state as the living room, with clothes and notebooks and electronic devices scattered all over every flat surface.

“God,” she said, picking up a tablet from the floor and shoving it onto a table.  “Someone could step on that.  Can’t afford to get that replaced. God, this is a mess.”

“Beth, _relax,_ ” said Maltha.  She was used to inspiring such nervousness in people, but not usually when she wasn’t _trying_ to.  She found herself wondering what Beth could be so anxious about.

Beth opened the drawer of her desk and fished out a purple box.  She then laughed, said “oh, we don’t need these,” and put it back.

Maltha seated herself on the bed.  “Thank you for showing me your place.  I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Beth laughed again, her hands occupied with tying her hair back in a ponytail.  “Oh, I’m sure you haven’t.”

Beth then pulled her top over her head, revealing a black polka-dot bra.

Maltha’s train of thought derailed violently.  This whole time she had been wondering why Beth was so interested in showing Maltha her residence, but she realized all at once that it wasn’t about her home at all. It had been about _her_ , and about Maltha.

“Oh,” said Maltha.  “ _Ooooh_.”

“You’ve never had a one-night stand before?” said Beth, hopping to get out of her pants.

Maltha looked over at the nightstand beside the bed.  “No, I don’t suppose I have.”

“Oh, you’re cool with that, though, right?”

Maltha looked doubtfully at the piece of furniture, sure that she was missing something.  “Yes, it’s rather inoffensive.”

“Mmm, good,” said Beth, inserting herself directly onto Maltha’s lap.

Maltha had never experienced anything like this in her entire life.  Beth’s lips were warm against hers, and her hands made their way down Maltha’s body to her wrists, dragging them over her exposed flesh and resting them on the edge of her undergarments.  Maltha could not explain why, but she liked it very much.

“Mmm, you like that?” said Beth.

“Yes,” said Maltha.

Beth’s hands worked at her chest, pulling the fabric of her dress aside, feeling Maltha’s breasts eagerly, leaning down and grazing them with small kisses.  

Maltha could not decide what to do with her hands, so she just left there where they had been directed.

Beth’s fingers hovered at the edge of Maltha’s sundress.  “Can I get this out of the way?”

“Sure.”

The fabric rustled faintly against Maltha’s thighs as Beth lifted it.  When the garment was waist-high, Beth began to prod at Maltha’s pants.  Her fingers froze.

“What’s the matter?” pressed Maltha, thinking that she had done something wrong.

“ _Oh,_ ” said Beth.  “You _are…_ ”

“I am what?”

“A…”

Gender is almost negligible for demons and angels; as a consequence, they do not gender body parts the same way that most humans do.  It did not occur to Maltha that anyone would find her body unusual, and Beth, struggling to find the right words, said:

“I just thought you were really butch.”

Maltha had been called _butcher_ before, which had seemed fair at the time because she had been removing someone’s limb, and that was the closest sense she could make out of Beth’s comment.  This led Maltha to the conclusion that Beth had somehow ascertained that she was a demon, because she didn’t know what else she could be talking about.

It is not explicitly forbidden for angels and demons to reveal their true nature to humans, but it is frowned upon.  Maltha was not overly worried about that, though; she was instead thinking about the possibility that Beth was superstitious and might have holy water lying around.

Maltha sighed, pushed Beth off, and smoothed out her dress.  “I’d better leave, I think.”

“Wait!” said Beth, her face colouring furiously.  “I’m sorry. Oh God, that was so rude, you probably think I’m just like those assholes back there.  Please come back.”

Maltha looked down at Beth. “You don’t have a problem with it?”

Beth held out her hands.  “I’m sorry, I _am._  It just took me by surprise, that’s all.  I shouldn’t have made any assumptions.”

This was also new. Maltha had never met a human who so readily accepted a demon, especially for an activity so carnal.  Usually it only happened at the hands of succubae or incubi with unsuspecting victims.  Maltha was not a demon of lust or even a demon of temptation at all.

But Beth’s fingers were working her way under Maltha’s dress again, and her lips were on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, this’ll be good,” said Beth.  “And afterwards, I’m really good at cuddling.  Oh!  Hold on a minute.”

Beth got up and made her way back over to the desk, sliding the drawer open.  “I guess we do need these after all.”

 _Cuddling_ was what she had done with Aziraphale and Crowley that night they had gotten drunk and fallen asleep on the couch together, she understood.  She had liked that, a lot.  She liked it when someone trusted her enough to fall asleep on her.  She thought about what a human would like in doing that.

“These are already lubed-” said Beth, turning around, and stopped mid-sentence.  Maltha was covered with a layer of downy black feathers.

Beth dropped the box.

“What in hell?”

Maltha removed her dress, ruffling herself and side-eying Beth.  “Yes.”

Beth got onto the bed and crawled forwards, running her hands through Maltha’s feathers.  “Oh my God,” she said.  “You’re so…soft…”

Maltha cooed and ran one clawed hand through Beth’s hair.

Beth fell forwards, burying her face in Maltha’s chest.  “So soft….”

They lay like that for a while, and eventually Beth’s breathing began to slow down.

“Hey,” she said sleepily, turning and using Maltha’s stomach for a pillow.  “I never asked you your name.”

Maltha’s hand stroked her shoulder gently as she drifted off to sleep.  “Malthakē.”

* * *

The feathers were gone the next morning.  Beth awoke slowly, muzzily looking around and trying to remember what had happened. She was using an enormous woman as a pillow, so that jogged her memory.

“Fuck,” she said, burying her face in Maltha’s stomach again.  “How drunk did I get last night?”

Maltha’s eyes flitted open. “Quite.”

She squinted at Maltha. “Did…did we have sex?  I don’t remember.”

Maltha shrugged.  “You tried very hard to do so, but you fell asleep instead.”

“Okay, so that happened,” Beth said, pushing herself up and hauling herself off the bed.  “Goddamn it.  I guess I need to call Mark.”

Maltha watched as Beth tried to dress herself with one shoulder propping a phone against her ear. “Mark—yeah—I know, I know.  I’m sorry.  I know.  Just a little.  Okay, a lot. I know.  Yeah, she’s still here.  Yeah, it was _fine._  I’m sorry.  Yes, I know. I’m sorry.  That’s what I’m _saying_ , Mark.”

She hung up and began to brush her hair.  Maltha finally found the will to move to an upright position and began to smooth out her own hair.  She caught a few stray feathers and plucked them out.

“Okay,” said Beth, turning around, looking fresher.  “Why don’t we get breakfast on the way, hm?”

A few minutes later, they were in Beth’s own clunky car going through the drive through at a fast food restaurant.  Maltha ordered something that looked good on the menu, but disgusting when she received it. It tasted like garbage, and that was saying a lot coming from someone who had eaten a live scorpion the day before. She suddenly remembered why she didn’t eat unless it was something that looked appetizing.

“Okay,” said Beth, cranking the wheel to get them out of the parking lot.  “You left your car at the club, right?”

“I walked there.”

“Oh.  So…where’s your place?”

“It is nowhere you could reach.”

“Oh.  Soooo….where do you want me to drop you off, then?  The train station?”

“I’m not ready to leave this city yet.  And when I do, it will be on foot.”

“You’re kidding,” said Beth. “That would take days of walking, if you don’t die of dehydration first.”

“That is how I came in.”

The car swerved and Beth pulled them into an alleyway.  The emergency brake cranked.  “What do you mean?” said Beth, gripping the steering wheel tightly.

“I walked here.”

“You walked across the desert?”

“Yes.”

“You walked across the desert and your first priority was to go to a club and hook up?”

“That was you,” said Maltha.

Beth blushed, then continued, “Forget that, you _couldn’t_ have.  I mean, you’re not sunburned, you’re not dehydrated, your dress is clean…”

“Beth,” said Maltha, looking directly at her, “It is not difficult for a demon.”

Beth grimaced and looked ahead.  “Oh.”

“I thought that would have been easy to figure out.”

“Yeah, sure. Okay.”  The emergency brake cranked off.  “Just tell me where to drop you off, you lunatic.”

Maltha’s social skills were still a bit lacking, but even she could tell Beth didn’t believe her. This confused her, because she thought she had figured it out last night.  “Beth, you saw my feathers.”

“I was drunk,” said Beth. “We both were.  I don’t know what that was.  Just…I need to go get ready for work, okay?  Just tell me where you’re going.”

Maltha looked out the front windshield.  “I am on a journey to see as much of the Earth as possible.  I want to learn everything about humanity and creation.”

Beth sighed.  “Can I go with you?”

“Yes, if you like.”

“That was a joke,” said Beth.  “You can go on your journey of self-discovery or whatever and walk out in the desert and die of dehydration if you want to.  I have to stay and go to work.”

They sat in silence for a few moments.  Maltha said, “You could come, if you wanted to.  I could keep you safe.”

Beth laughed. “Okay.  What about money?  What are we gonna do when we get hungry, wise guy?  Don’t give me that romanticized bullshit about backpacking across Europe. My bills will still all be there when I get back.”

“Bills.”

“Yes!” said Beth.

“You don’t understand what I’m saying,” said Maltha.  “I am an archdemon.  I have power. You would not need to worry about anything like that with me.”

“Bills!  Like money!  You fucking weirdo!”  She took a moment to steady herself.  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.  I can’t deal with this right now.  My life is a mess.  With what’s happened…with how my last…partner…and my d…  I need to get it together first, I…Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to go gallivanting around the globe doing who knows what, but I just can’t.  I have to face my problems like a grown up, even if…”

“I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

Beth’s head slowly lowered until it _thunked_ on the steering wheel. “Look,” she said, sounding on the verge of tears.  “Please just leave, all right?  I can’t deal with this.”

Maltha waited for a few moments, looking at the dashboard.  “I’m sorry, Beth.  I thought maybe this could be a source of happiness for the both of us.  But I see now you’re another of God’s creations not meant for me. Forgive me for my forwardness.  Take care.”

She unsnapped her seatbelt and opened the door, walking to the mouth of the alley.

The door ajar alarm sounded as Beth opened hers.  Maltha turned back to see Beth walking towards her, face red.  “Er, wait…”  She put her arms around herself miserably.  “Will you let me give you my phone number?”

“Your phone number?”

“It doesn’t sound like you know anyone here.  It’d make me feel better knowing you could get ahold of someone if you got in trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“I don’t know, if you get arrested or something.  I just don’t want to wake up tomorrow to hear you’ve been found dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“You do not need to worry about me.”

“Sweetheart, it’s dangerous to be wandering around out here all on your own.”

“It’s not dangerous,” said Maltha.

A fireball suddenly whizzed past the mouth of the alley.  Maltha and Beth both froze.

“Wh…what was that?”

A pair of figures in armor flashed past, visible only for a second, locked onto each other ferociously.

“What the hell?” said Beth.

“Stay here,” said Maltha.

She strode out into the street, only to dodge quickly back as a second pair of combatants brawled around her, a demon and an angel, both with swords out, very intent on harming each other.

“What is going on here?”

The newcomers shot up into the sky, wings whirling, and disappeared behind a building.

“W-what was that?” said Beth again, sprinting up to Maltha’s side, contrary to instructions.

Maltha growled in annoyance. “I think I know what this is.”

“Who was that?” said Beth. “How…”

A demonic warrior appeared on the sidewalk, jogging up to Maltha.  “Lord Maltha,” he panted, genuflecting.  “Finally, we’ve found you.”

“Wait, do you know him?” said Beth.

“What are you doing?” Maltha said harshly.  “I was having a nice time up here until you lot interrupted.  I left instructions not to be bothered under any circumstances.”

The demon got down on one knee again, cowed by the anger in her voice.  “Our lord Satan commanded us to find you and get you involved.  He has sired another son.  The war with Heaven draws near.  Heaven has sent warriors to try and stop us from reaching you, but now that we’ve found you you can join us, and then come down to Hell and lead your legions in the war.”

To punctuate that statement, another pair of combatants flew overhead, then disappeared again, moving too fast to follow.  Maltha’s eyes jerked up to follow them briefly, then came back down to rest on the demonic messenger.  “You ask me to turn this planet into a battlefield.”

“Th-that has always been the plan,” said the demon.

Maltha manifested a set of claws on her foot and clamped it onto his head, smashing it into the pavement. She spread her wings wide, towering over him.  “Listen to me very carefully,” said Maltha, grinding his face against the ground.  “I am not to be disturbed.  Do not contact me for anything short of Satan himself dying. I am not going to lead any legions of the damned.  I am not going to destroy this planet.  What I _am_ going to do is kill anyone from Hell who disrespects me enough to ignore my wishes.  Do you understand me?”

“Y-yes, lord,” said the demon.

“Now go, and take your friends with you.”

He disappeared the second he was released.  Maltha tried to straighten her feathers as she monitored the otherworldly presences disappearing.  All except…

She turned around just in time to see a body fall from a building and crash to the ground, wing pinned under itself at a painful angle.  

“Brute,” said Maltha, noting the tail of a demonic warrior vanishing over the roof.  “Had to get in one last shot, didn’t you?”

“Oh my God,” said Beth, dashing forwards towards the fallen body.  A gaggle of human rubberneckers had gathered by now, but Beth was the only one who knelt on the pavement and tried to prop the injured angel up.

Maltha strode over to them, pushing humans out of the way with rude comments.  “Leave him there, Beth.  They’ll come back for him as soon as they realize he’s missing.”

“But he looks hurt really bad,” said Beth, inexpertly trying to do something, hands on his wounds. “He’s going to die.  Can you help him?”

Maltha looked down at the angel haughtily.  She was, in fact, one of the most qualified individuals on the planet to help him. “I’m not helping an _angel,_ ” she sneered.

The warrior feebly made some attempt to push himself back and away from the archdemon, face paling with fear, but Beth told him to lie still and held him fast.

“Well why not?” Beth shouted.

Beth didn’t know about Maltha’s grudge against Heaven. Beth had no idea of what kind of animosity there would be between someone like her and any angel that had never even met her. Beth didn’t know about any of that, and perhaps Beth would not even care about any of that if she knew.  Beth only saw someone who needed help, and someone who could help them.  And Maltha was shaken, because she remembered a time when she had been like that, a very long time ago, her old self, the one who had fallen because she raged against rules that kept her from helping her siblings.

And she finally realized that she could still be like that, if she wanted to.  And she did.

Several of the humans in the street had their phones out and were on the line with police, and most of them were gawking at Maltha’s wings, but she ignored them all.

“All right,” said Maltha, kneeling down.  “Move over. Give me a little space.”

Beth let go of him and let Maltha take over.  The angel coughed and closed his eyes, clearly terrified, but Maltha forced healing power through him.  He gave a painful moan as Maltha put her hands on him.

“Is he going to be okay?” said Beth.

“Yes,” said Maltha. “He’s going to be fine.”

“Ramial,” said the warrior, voice trembling.

Maltha looked up to see an angelic healer staring at then, frozen with fear in the street.  Maltha looked from the warrior to the healer whose name he had just called, realizing the healer wanted to grab the warrior but was too petrified to get closer than a dozen meters away.

“Oh,” said Maltha. “Um…” She stood and backed away.

The healer was still too scared to come retrieve the warrior. Maltha took an additional step back.

Finally, the healer dashed forwards, lifted the warrior up by under his arm, and disappeared as fast she could.

That left Maltha and Beth standing there, both covered with blood, among a gaggle of human onlookers.

“Holy shit,” said Beth after a moment.  “Hold on, that was _real?_  That weird shit you were saying?”

“I suppose,” said Maltha.

Beth’s mouth struggled to form words.  Then finally, she managed, “You have wings.”

“Yes, I did used to be an angel.”

“Can...Can I touch them?”

“I would prefer if you waited until you cleaned your hands off.”

“Oh.”

Maltha looked around at the humans.  Sirens began to wail in the distance.  “I suppose Heaven will be by shortly to make sure everyone forgets this. They care about that sort of thing.”

“Oh,” said Beth, sounding disappointed.

Maltha crossed her arms. The sirens began to get louder.

“Do they have to make me forget it?” said Beth.  “That was pretty cool.”

Maltha raised her shoulders, gesturing with one bloodied hand.  “Well, if you stay here they will.  But if you came with me, they wouldn’t be able to.”

“Oh,” said Beth. Then, her face began to dawn with growing excitement.  “Wait, really?  I can go with you? That’s real?  This can really happen? I can leave everything here behind to go backpack across Europe or whatever?”

“If you like,” said Maltha. “But I thought you had to go to work.”

“F-forget work!” said Beth. “Oh my God!  What the Hell!  Let’s go!”

Beth and Maltha ran back to the car just as an ambulance arrived.  And by the time the police got there, they had already swung out of the alley and rocketed away, off into the distance, ready for who knows what.


	7. Kabata and Yulera

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/160969839610/first-meetings-part-7-kabata-and-yulera

_1 year ago_

Once upon a time, down in the seventh circle of Hell, there lived a demon named Yulera.

Yulera was an outstanding demon in a number of ways, one of which was her incredible cowardice.  She was, in fact, the least brave demon in existence.  She would have been awfully embarrassed to see the rankings.

She was so un-brave that she was one of the last few demons in existence that had never stepped foot on Earth even once.  She had fallen from Heaven, dug herself into Hell, and stayed put for 6,000 years. She simply refused to go up. There were angels up there, and you could get hurt, _really_ hurt.  You could even die.  No thank you.

The only being Yulera had any regular interaction with was Ritze, another demon who was extremely cowardly, but less so than Yulera.  It would not be fair to say that they were _friends,_ because demons are not supposed to have friends, but they never tried to kill each other, at least.

Ritze was the only one who could coerce Yulera to come out of her hole.  She could even, on occasion, convince her to come all the way up Limbo.  But no further than that.

“Come _on,_ Yulera,” said Ritze, stamping her feet on the dry grass of Limbo.  “Just for a few minutes.”

“No,” said Yulera. “I’m not going up there.”

“I’m telling you, you’d like it.  More than down here.”

“No, I’m staying in Hell.”

Ritze pointed straight upwards to the dark ceiling of the cavernous space, where light was streaming through a single opening.  “Yulera, it’s _right there._  Just use your wings and fly up.  Smell the air.  Look at the grass.  Just stick your head out.”

“No,” said Yulera. “I’m sure someone will lop it off.”

Ritze sighed and sat cross-legged on the ground.  “Yulera, what’s the point of living if you’re just going to sit around in a hole all the time?  Don’t you want to experience something different for a change?”

Yulera’s lip quavered. She did.  But she was too scared, and Ritze was not good at giving her courage. “I’m doing an important job down here.”

“What, torturing sinners?”

“Yes.”

“When was the last time you tortured someone?”

Yulera was silent, because even though torturing sinners was her assignment, she had never actually tortured anyone.  She had simply run away the first time someone tried to hand her a pitchfork.

The black sky suddenly flashed to life from a fireball streaking across it.  Ritze’s eyes widened as it touched down a ways away.

Ritze stood.  Yulera said, “Ritze, no!”

Ritze had already grabbed Yulera’s hand and started pulling her along.  “Come on!”

“Don’t you know what that is?” wailed Yulera.

“A newly fallen angel!”

“Yes!”

“Come on!”

“No!”

“Fresh meat!”

“Stop it!  Just leave them alone!”

The impact had made a small crater, the dry and withered grass blown aside.  In the divot was a bulky man-shaped being, but he was becoming progressively less man-shaped as he writhed and flailed and screamed in agony.

Ritze dragged Yulera to the very edge of the crater and peered into it.  “Hurts, doesn’t it!” she yelled.

“Ritze!”

“Holy shit, who _is_ that?  That was an _archangel,_ Yulera.  Something serious must be going on if Heaven is booting _archangels_ out again.”

The newly fallen archdemon finally resolved into a steady shape.  It was impossible to make out any details of his new appearance because he was covered in a thick layer of soot, except for a pair of impressive horns spiraling out from his head.

“Which one do you think it was?” said Ritze, hopping into the crater and circling the newcomer.  “I hope it was Uriel.  I’d love to see her face.”

“W-Who’s there?” sobbed the new archdemon, extending his arms out.

“You sack of shit,” said Ritze, grabbing his horn and yanking his head sideways.  He cried out in pain, his hands feebly scrabbling at her grip on his head.  “Finally getting a taste of your own medicine, huh?”  She spat on him.

“Ritze, stop it,” said Yulera, finally gathering enough courage to slide into the divot herself.

“I can’t see,” said the archdemon.  “I c-c…”

“It’s dark down here,” said Ritze.  “I thought you would have realized that from the time you _threw us all down here._ ”

“Stop it!” said Yulera as Ritze raked her claws over his face.

“Yulera, let’s throw him into the lake of fire.”

“What!”

“With Satan gone and all the other archdemons fighting each other, no one will notice.”

“Please,” he begged.

“What’s your name?” said Ritze, yanking his horn again.  “Hm? Please tell me you’re Uriel. What’s your name?”

“C-c…”

“Can’t you talk? Pathetic!”

“Ritze, stop!” Yulera burst out again, smacking her arm away from him.  Ritze stared at her, amazed.

“ _Now_ you finally work up your courage?” she snarled. “Now?  To defend _him?_ A stranger?”

“We don’t know why he fell. Do you think it was fair when we fell? We should give him a chance.”

“Why _should_ we?”

“I don’t know! Because we can!  Stop being so petty!”

Ritze stared sullenly at the archdemon, past Yulera, who had planted herself between them.  She crossed her arms.  “Hmph, if you want to be _kind_ like some angel, then go ahead I guess.  See where it gets you.  I’m not going to stick around and watch, though.  Do what you want with him.  I wouldn’t be surprised if another archdemon comes along to kill you both, with the way they’ve been going at each other.”

Ritze stalked away, leaving the two alone.  Yulera watched her go, thinking that she may have just lost the only sort-of friend she had with her first ever burst of courage.  She sighed and knelt down by the newcomer, turning his face towards her with a gentle hand.  Blood welling from the claw marks ran tracks through the ash covering his face, as did the tears.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

His lip quavered, and he shied away from her.

“It’ll stop eventually. You’ll have to get used to getting better over time, without healers.”

“I can’t see,” he said again.

“Your eyes will adjust to the darkness.”

“It hurts.”

“It will get better.” She put her hand to his face again. “I’ll stay with you.  Don’t worry.”

She helped him up. His hand was enormous in hers, but it was shaking.

“What your name?  Do you know what it is?”

He remained silent.

“It might take you a moment to figure it out.  But it’s different now.”

“It’s…”  His eyes were beginning to burn with their new infernal colouration, pupils finally dilating and allowing him some sense of sight. “It’s Kabata.”

* * *

Yulera’s residence of choice was a literal hole in the wall, which she did not often leave.  It was lined with choice bits of junk: interesting rocks, artifacts and weapons she did not know how to use, bones, and any manner of garbage that a scavenger would accumulate in 6,000 years.  And books.

Books were Yulera’s favourite.  Her lair contained as extensive of a collection as it was possible to accumulate in Hell.  They were mostly books Ritze had brought down for her, or ones that had been brought down for someone else that she had stolen.  Books were the only thing she went out of her way to steal from others. If a book went missing on Earth, it was probably because Aziraphale had found some excuse to take it, but if one went missing in Hell, it was probably because its owner had turned their back, and a scavenger with an insatiable love of reading and no courage to go up to Earth had snatched it up.

When you spend 6,000 years hiding in a hole, there is not much else to occupy your attention.

The occult knowledge and trade secrets in Yulera’s books probably would have let her take down Satan himself, if 1) He had still been alive, 2) Yulera knew how to use any of the knowledge in the books, and 3)  She were not so scared of going outside that shadows moving on the wall in her home sent her into a fit of fearful crying.

She kept her books separate from the rest of her collection because she did not want to get them dirty, and the rest of her collection was mostly trash.  And now that trash included a living, breathing archdemon.

There was only one comfortable place to lounge amidst the mess, which is where Kabata was currently stretched out.  Yulera was curled up on top of him.  They had just finished having sex at her request, and now they sat there in post-coital satisfaction.

She ran a finger on the ridges of his horns.  “You have such nice horns.”

Kabata did not know what to say. He didn’t particularly like his horns.

She leaned her head onto his shoulder.  “What are you most afraid of?”

He stared down at his hooves.

“Kabata?  Are you afraid of anything?”

“God,” he finally answered.

Her eyelids drooped closed. “Funny.  That was my answer, too.”

Hell is a no-smoking zone, but Hell is also where you’re supposed to break rules, and Kabata, who had never had sex before, felt like smoking was something one might do after sex. He materialized a cigarette and lit it up.

Yulera, who _had_ had sex before but never smoked, was intrigued by this novelty.  Her thin, feathered tail twitched on his calf muscle. “What’s that?”

He passed her the cigarette, and she took a puff, copying him.  A distasteful expression overtook her face.  “S’all right,” she said, releasing smoke as she spoke.

He watched as, instead of giving it back, Yulera pinched it out and went to stash it among her belongings. He did not complain because he had not been particularly enjoying it either.

She moved from her piles of junk over to her collection of books.

Yulera was an outstanding demon for a number of reasons, one of which was that she had a perfectly photographic memory.  She had the contents of all her books memorized down to the punctuation.  She crawled down on her knees and retrieved her favourite volume, bringing it back over to the bed.  She flipped it open to her favourite page.

“This is a bestiary I took from someone who was going to give it to Satan,” she said with a small quiver.  It had been one of her proudest moments.  Her victim had been a demon who had been going to try and earn brownie points from Satan by introducing him to the possibility of using a sphinx as a lie-detector, but abandoned his plan as soon as he discovered the volume was missing.

“The griffin is my favourite,” she said, running her finger over the charcoal illustration on the page. “Apparently most of these magical creatures are very rare and roam the Earth, only stopping for those who are worth their attention.  Wouldn’t that be amazing, Kabata?  Wouldn’t that be grand?  If a griffin thought you were worthy of their notice?  Or a sphinx?  Which is your favourite?  Kabata?”

Kabata was not listening to her.  He was looking at the mouth of the entrance, a crevice barely big enough for him to get through up in the wall.

Yulera sat back, disappointing overcoming her.  “You’re going to leave, aren’t you?”

Kabata hauled himself off the bed, replacing his shirt.  “It’s been long enough.”  It was hard to tell the passage of time down here, and he had no idea how long it had been since his fall.

“You don’t have to go,” she said.  “You could stay down here with me.  No one would ever know where you were.”

He sensed the rising desperation in her voice, and just looked at her for a moment.

What was she so afraid of this time?  The idea of him leaving sent panic spiking through her.

He was the first one who had ever made her feel brave.  Powerful. She had slapped Ritze’s hand away and told her off and suddenly this vulnerable person was no longer in danger. Because of something she had done. It proved she _could_ do things if she wanted to.  And if he left, she would never see him again, and it would be like she had never done it at all.

And he had not stayed with her out of pity like she knew Ritze did.  And his aura was so huge he practically radiated power.  His smell was intoxicating.  She already longed for the touch of his skin again.

She loved him.  Or maybe she loved the idea of him—what he represented, the possibility that things could get better.  The idea that someone might see something worthwhile in her.

“I love you, Kabata.  Please don’t leave me.”

Kabata broke eye contact to grab his trousers from the floor.  “Would you like to know a secret?”

She nodded.

“It’s what got me kicked out of Heaven.”

She nodded more vigorously.

“The secret,” he said, “is that God is not truly immortal either.”

She just stared at him.

He pulled his trousers up and cinched his belt.  “I had better go put in my bid for the throne.  Thank you for your hospitality, Yulera.  You are very kind.”

_Kind_ was not a complimentary thing to call a demon. Demons were not supposed to be kind. “The throne?  You’re not serious, are you?”

“I am.”

“The throne?”  She crawled forwards.  “Kabata, are you serious?  The throne?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t go.  Let someone else take it.  Don’t take it.  Don’t take the throne.  Let someone else have it.  Stay here with me.”

“Unlike you, Yulera, I actually face my fears.” He smiled viciously.  “And I know exactly where— or rather, with whom—to start.”

“You’re not going to kill anyone, are you?” she said.

“You can’t expect an archdemon not to kill anyone.”

She sat back, looking like she wanted to cry. “Just tell me you’re not going to kill anyone. Even if it’s a lie. I won’t ever know the difference.”

“All right.  I won’t kill anyone.  Just for you.”

She watched as he struggled up to the crevice to exit, then disappeared, leaving her among her belongings in the dimness.

Yulera knew that demons were not supposed to kind, even to one another.  And as she sat alone once again, she began to think that maybe there was a reason they were not supposed to be kind.


	8. Maltha and Raphael

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/161041420365/first-meetings-part-8-maltha-and-raphael

 

_Yesterday_

Raphael had really been hoping to leave unnoticed.  But when you are an archangel, it’s very difficult to do things incognito.

It had been Ramial who had caught him, a field healer who was in Heaven for a debriefing at the time. She found him outside the gates and looked at him with wide eyes.  The thing that tipped her off to something being wrong was the fact that Raphael was holding a shortsword.  She had never seen a healer with an offensive weapon before. They didn’t need them. Supposedly.  “Raphael, sir, I heard you had called off the meeting, so I thought you might need help with something…Where are you going?”

Raphael smiled at her, and took her hands gently.  “Ramial, I want you to forget that you saw me leaving.  Can you do that for me?”

“R-Raphael,” she said. “Sir, what are you saying?”

“I have to go do something, and if the other archangels found out what it was, they would cast me out of Heaven.”

Her eyes boggled out of her head.  “Sir, wh-what could you possibly be doing?”

“If I tell you—if I trust you—will you trust me, trust that I know what I’m doing, and keep it to yourself?”

She nodded.

“I’m going to seek conference with the Queen of Hell.”

Ramial just stared at him, afraid.

Raphael squeezed her hands. “I need you to trust me, Ramial. I’m finally taking action on something. I’m following my convictions.  And I need you to believe, no matter what you hear about me, that I’m doing what I think is right.  No matter what.  Okay?”

She swallowed.  “All right.”

“Okay.” Raphael released her and stood in front of the portal he had opened up.

“Wait!” Ramial said.

He turned back to her.

“Will you….Would you…ask her about Cralael?”

Raphael gave her a piteous look.

“She must know where he is. If he’s okay.”

“Ramial,” said Raphael. “I know you cared about him.  But it’s been six-thousand years.  He probably doesn’t think about you.  He might not even remember who you are. He’s a different person now.”

“I told him we would meet again, Raphael. I _promised_ him we would see each other again.”

“Maybe,” said Raphael softly, “you should be more careful about making promises you have no way to keep.”

Ramial looked like she wanted to cry.  

Raphael squeezed her shoulder.  “All right. If I have the opportunity, I’ll ask her.  But I can’t make any promises.  I have other, very important things to discuss with her.”

“All right,” said Ramial. “All right, I suppose that’s all I can ask for.  Don’t risk anything on my behalf.”

Raphael turned back to the portal.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Ramial called after him.  “In Hell?  By yourself?”

Raphael turned back one last time, then flashed her a winning smile.  “That’s why I have this shortsword, see?”

And he plunged forwards.

* * *

([link for better quality](http://petimetrek.tumblr.com/post/159461921916/commission-for-not-a-space-alien-commissions))

The dim shroud of limbo was broken by the faintly glowing figure gracefully drifting down on broad blue wings.  The oppressive silence made each flap sound painfully, unnaturally loud.

Raphael touched down on the withered grass, folding his wings inward, his healing staff in one hand and shortsword in the other, extended outwards.

“Hello?”

His voice echoed away, lost in the cavernous space.

When no one responded, Raphael adopted a more relaxed pose, trotting over the dusty ground to the entrance to the second layer of Hell.  As expected.  He hadn’t anticipated encountering any resistance this far up.

The second circle of Hell was completely empty.  Darkness as black as a cave was broken only by an occasional flash of harsh white light. That and the next circle in the distance, a tear letting light from the third layer of Hell leak in.

Raphael could see his breath as he entered the third circle.  Cerberus was fast asleep.  Raphael crept around him and made his way into the fourth circle.

The next room was brightly lit but claustrophobic.  Many pairs of eyes peered at him from every crevice where they would fit.  Raphael kept his sword and staff extended.

“You all know who I am. There will be consequences for harming me.”

The eyes disappeared.

Raphael engaged his wings to fly above the dark water of the fifth circle.  The demons clinging to the ceiling like bats stared at him with hatred, but they let him pass.

With who was sitting on the throne, there might be punishment from sources other than Raphael himself for trying to intervene, and nobody felt like risking their hide to stop him.

He imagined that by now news of his arrival would be working its way downwards.  He might expect to be greeted in the first circle.

The sixth, seventh, and eighth circles all went the same way.  Hell was eerily quiet and empty.  It was somehow worse than it had always been.  Every sound he made ricocheted off the walls and bounced ever downwards.

Raphael finally reached the lowest level of Hell.  He folded his wings in and entered, walking as calmly as he dared, demons blocking the entrance behind him to peer at him.

He walked through a long hallway lined with stone rooms with hooks and chains and horrible instruments in them.  He did not like that part.  But at least they were empty now.

He breathed more freely as he left that behind him, coming out into a huge antechamber lined with thick yellow carpet, entryways and hallways sprawling off in every direction like spokes of a wheel.  An archdemon, eyes aflame on him, stood blocking the entrance to the one directly ahead.

Raphael lowered his weapons and drew near, his staff tapping on the ground until he was face to face with the archdemon.  He inclined his head.  “Camael.”

The archdemon scowled, baring his teeth.

“Kabata, then.”

“You’ll risk yourself to help Michael,” said Kabata.  “But not me.  Never me.”

“I love Michael.  I cannot say I ever had the same feelings towards you.”

Kabata sneered at him. If Raphael had been able to say anything to pacify him, it wasn’t that.

“You brought what happened to you on yourself,” Raphael said.  “Don’t blame me.  After what you did to Crowley—”

“Surely you must know that wasn’t about him, Raphael,” said Kabata, flicking his ears.  “As though any archangel but you would care for a demon’s feelings.”  

“Okay,” said Raphael, with a flourish.  “What do you want me to say?  I didn’t stand up for you.  Can you really blame me?  I’m not going to apologize.  What are you going to do about it?”

It was a bold thing to say. Raphael didn’t think he would be able to best Kabata in combat, especially not here, cut off from any celestial support.  Despite his earlier bluffs, he wasn’t entirely convinced Maltha would save him from bodily harm.

Kabata’s nostrils flared dangerously.

A voice from the room beyond interjected. “Kabata, don’t make me regret releasing you.  You were doing so well.  Let him pass.”

Kabata turned his head, growling, eyes rolling.

“It’s not too late for you to go back into the Pit, you know.  I said you could come out only if you behaved yourself.”

Cowed, Kabata stepped to the side.  He skewered Raphael with a look of absolute hatred, which Raphael ignored as he passed him.

Raphael’s sandals thumped quietly on the long red carpet cutting a path through the throne room.  Soaring, jagged pillars lined either side, arching over him.  And at the very end of the room was an enormous silver throne.  Upon it sat a woman with her legs crossed and resting on the armrest, lounging in it like it was a recliner.  A small boy knelt on the floor nearby, playing with a menagerie of toys spread out on a carpet.  The boy looked at Raphael fearfully as he drew near.

A gaggle of lesser demons that had been attending to various things about the pair fled as soon as Raphael was within sight.  Maltha let them go without comment.  Instead, she turned her attention to Raphael and said,  “Well, well.  The archangel Raphael.  It’s been a _very_ long time.”

Raphael came to a stop three-fourths of the way to the throne, unsure of how to proceed, feeling overwhelmed.

Maltha stood, royal robes falling about her.  “I see you’ve finally worked up enough of a spine to do something the other archangels would not approve of.  This is bold, especially for you, Raphael.”

Raphael gave a little bow. “Just like the old days, isn’t it? Whenever Raphael needs help, he always runs off to find Miriam.”

Maltha got a look of supreme irritation on her face. “Miriam has been dead for a very long time.”

“In that case, this would be our first meeting, and it would be polite to do introductions.  I am Raphael, the archangel of healing.”

“And I am the archdemon Maltha,” said Maltha, descending the stairs from the throne.  “Former archangel of healing and current regent ruler of Hell.  You already knew that, and you knew the fact that we worked together in Heaven meant everyone would be too scared to try and bar your entry.  So you simply walked all the way down here with nothing but a shortsword.”

Raphael gave another polite bow, sweating.  “I confess you’ve read me perfectly.”

Maltha drew near him, circling him. Raphael remained stationary, letting her do what she liked.

“You always were one of my brightest students,” she said.  “But surely you realize that’s not why they chose you to replace me.” She came around the front of him again, sizing him up.  It took all his willpower not to take a step back away from her.  “They chose you because your docile personality meant the new archangel would be easier to manipulate than I was.”

Raphael allowed himself to smile faintly.  “I’m not saying it’s not true.”

She tilted her head. “So there must be something _very_ pressing if even Raphael is daring to disobey.”

“I want a consultation,” said Raphael.

Maltha closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, scowling, glowering over him.  “You have a lot of nerve coming down here for something like that after that letter the other archangels sent me.”

Raphael finally shrank back a little.  “I hope you know I didn’t have anything to do with what’s happening with Beth.  I wouldn’t condone that.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Surely you must know I am going to strike back at them, don’t you?”

“You are clever enough to know that’s exactly what they want.  I thought you were against the war.”

“I am.  But they _will_ answer for what they’ve done.  You can tell them that, if you like.”

She turned around and stalked back to the throne, seating herself and throwing one leg over the other. “But, as we said, you are not here for that.  You would not go against Uriel, Metatron, and Gabriel for my sake, because that would throw Heaven into the kind of chaos Hell saw after Satan’s death. So tell me, then, what it is that motivated the archangel of healing to journey into Hell seeking the advice of his old master.”

Raphael got down on one knee.

Maltha moved a hand to her mouth, as though to hide laughter.  “You do realize what would happen if anyone in Heaven found out you genuflected to the ruler of Hell, don’t you?”

“I know.”

Noah had been silent throughout this entire exchange, uncomprehending of their conversation but sensing the tension in the air.  He finally broke in to say, “Maltha? Do I need to do something?”

Maltha gave him a sweet smile.  “No, honey.” Then, turning back to Raphael: “This is personal.”

* * *

The Book of Life was kept in the furthest reaches of Heaven, upon an ornate pedestal in the elegant chambers of an innermost sanctuary.  Raphael’s name was not on the very short list of angels who were allowed to touch and read the Book.  That list, for all intents and purposes, was as follows:

1.       Uriel

2.       Metatron

3.       Not you, Raphael, don’t even think about it

And yet, standing here in the antechamber, looking at the empty, dead-silent hall that housed the book, the rebellious, unthinkable part of his mind that he had managed to suppress for 6,000 years was thinking about it. The consequences would be dire if he did so.

The fact that he had not been struck dead by God was, in his mind, evidence that he would eventually decide not to touch the Book.  But he still lingered.

His train of thought was interrupted by footsteps tapping towards him.  He turned and began to walk out, acting like he hadn’t just been thinking about what he had been thinking about.

“There you are, sir,” said his assistant, rounding the bend, thankfully too engrossed in a paper in their hand to take much notice of where he had been coming from.  They looked up at him, extending a report.  “I tried to find the demon Crowley like you asked, but he’s missing.”

Raphael blinked slowly. “Missing?”

“None of our field agents or contacts seem to be able to find him.”

“Not even Aziraphale?”

“Aziraphale is also missing.”

Raphael took the report dumbly, mind preoccupied with other thoughts.  “Oh…All right…Thank you, Caleb. I’ll have to give this to Ramial later, if I can remember…”

“Sir?” said the other angel, leaning towards him.  “Is everything all right?”

Raphael opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly an angelic messenger exploded into existence with a whorl of feathers beside them.

“Raphael! Sir!” said the messenger, panting from the effort of teleportation.  “We need your assistance immediately!”

They moved as fast as they could to the infirmary.  The double doors of the emergency ward flew open, and Raphael hustled in, surrounded by a group of lesser angels following him like startled ducklings.

“What is it?” Raphael said. “Who needs my help?”

A power of healing gestured him to come closer to the table where everyone’s attention was focused, then moved aside to let him see the body there—heavily injured, blood everywhere, but still breathing.  As soon as Raphael made contact with his aura, he knew the unfortunate soul would survive, but he had his doubts about if they had waited much longer.

And that would have been very bad, considering who it was.

“All right,” said Raphael, putting his hands on Angelo’s damaged body as the small angel moaned and feebly reached up.  “Relax. I’ve got you.  You’re not going to die.”

“R…” Angelo tried, before passing out.

As his healing power flowed through him, Raphael’s resolve hardened, catalyzed by anger.  And now he knew for sure what he had to do.  “Where is Michael?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! this is the end for now but stay tuned for the last installment soon


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